


everything else, coalescing

by bobtheacorn



Series: And Never Again Feel Weak [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, First Dates, First Time, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Explicit Sex, Red Paladin Lance (Voltron), This is the Dumb Tooth-Rotting Fluff Y'all Been Waiting For
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtheacorn/pseuds/bobtheacorn
Summary: "Oh? So, what? First one to talk about work has to - ""Make all of the delegation calls for the next two movements.""No, that's not fair, I do that anyway!""Yeah, but if you win thenI'lldo it," Keith points out, hitting him with that confident and yet condescending smirk that has Lance's blood pressure rising. He doesn't know whether to be excited by that provoking gaze or annoyed by it. Keith cooley folds his arms and sinks back into his seat. He tips his chin up, spreads his knees. "Unless you think you'll slip up first.""There isno waythat I'm slipping up first," Lance assures him, moving his hands and looking away to stop himself from climbing into Keith's lap and making out with him in a very public space.That combo does things to him and Keith knows it.Very unfair.//Lance and Keith go on a (belated) first date.





	everything else, coalescing

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between 6 months to a year after part three, between two hands.
> 
> The Mature Rating is only because things get a lil' ~spicy~ toward the end, but it's nothing explicit! Opt out at _There are just a few thin layers_ where they start talking about having sex, or at _"Then step up your game, McClain."_ where they get frisky in earnest!

"How have we  _ never _ been on an actual date before?"

Lance asks this with more aggravation that he truly feels about the subject. The clasp of his gauntlet is jammed from having to block a blow earlier without his shield and, safely seated on a bench in one of the Castle's expansive changing rooms post-mission, he's struggling to get it off. Pidge drops their chest plate on the bench and sits beside him, pulling his arm into their space and putting their smaller, dexterous fingers to work prying the busted clasp apart. Lance swings his head around to look at Keith, who's shedding his leg guards and boots on the other side of the room, bent over his knees.

_ "Keith." _

"What? You're asking me?" Keith asks without looking up.

"Well, he wasn't asking  _ us _ ," Hunk says, stowing his armour and then peeling off his gloves.

Allura turns, unzipping the back of her flight suit and gracing the room with a polite look of skepticism and an elegantly arched eyebrow to match, "I'm assuming 'an actual date' means something else on Earth? Because you've been together quite a number of 'dates', Lance."

"See! Allura doesn't even know what I'm talking about!"

"How is that my fault?" Keith asks, distracted with his boots, "You could've asked me!"

"Keith, I  _ am  _ asking!"

"What?"

Keith lifts his head, mouth parted in surprised. His mullet is starting to look more like a mane recently; it's longer, hanging in his face, sweaty and matted from being underneath his helmet.

"Very smooth, Lance," Pidge says, smirking, and snaps the clasp of Lance's gauntlet open, dropping it in the seat they vacate, "You're free!"

"Thanks, Pidge."  Lance rubs his wrist, which is still tingling a bit from the shock of the blow earlier. He rests his hands between his knees and squares his shoulders, and meets Keith's gaze steadily. "I'm asking if you wanna go out sometime. Like on a date. With me."

_ "Where?" _ Keith scoffs the word out, clearly stunned.

Lance knows the other man well enough by now not to let the tone of voice raise his hackles. Catching Keith off guard is no great feat - he isn't the most perceptive guy - but to Lance's competitive nature the moment is satisfying enough that he grins in response to it. But then, he remembers, he doesn't have an answer for Keith, either. The castleship isn't exactly a dating hub. There's the training deck, and the pool, and the observatory, and hundreds of other cool rooms, and there's definitely no lack of opportunities for privacy, but they're all too routine to be date material.

It's no wonder neither of them have ever brought it up before.

They're too busy defending the universe, too busy trying to establish and keep the peace.

"We're due on Amestrias in a few quintants," Allura says, bending to peel the rest of her suit off her toes and looking at the two of them through a cascade of bright hair, "Hunk and Pidge and I can handle the negotiations with Lord Hvariette and her consort if you two want to set your date there."

"Yeah, we can do our actual job while you guys make heart eyes at each other over dinner," Hunk says, grinning as he buckles up his pants.

Pidge groans, in the process of pulling off their own boots now, "How is  _ that _ fair?"

"Have you got somebody you wanna make heart eyes at?" Hunk asks.

"No, that's disgusting."

"Then you gotta work, Pidgeon."

"That's messed up. There shouldn't be allowances!"

"Someone elaborate," Allura says softly, stepping into her dress, "What is this date?"

"A date is - y'know. It's - " Lance throws out his hand, wondering how to explain, "It's like courting, but without the part where you publicly declare your intentions for each other and all that formal jazz with families and blessings and dowries or whatever. You just go out and like, have dinner and go see a movie or a show or something. It's just… doing something fun with just you and the person you wanna spend time with. Romantically."

His face is warm, and Lance distracts himself from this - from the fact that Keith hasn't said anything at all and is still sitting in his full black armour, staring - by working off his gloves one finger at a time.

"I see," Allura says, smiling and looking thoughtful as she slips into her dress.

Pidge pulls a tank top down over their binder, kicks off the rest of their suit, and reaches for their cargo shorts with one hand, their handheld device with the other. They swipe their thumb across the screen, scanning translated text in real time and brushing past relevant images; architecture, alien festivals, promotions and coupons, etc.

"Amestrias has a few popular resorts and tourist locations. I'm sure you guys could find something fun to do, romantically or otherwise."

"Yeah?" Lance looks at Keith again, but busies himself with his other gauntlet, "What do you think, mullet?"

"Sure."

Keith drops his attention to his boots again, though, and that's about all that Lance can stand. He tries not to think about how much that stings, but apparent disinterest from Keith over something he was really excited about feels like a knife twisting in between his ribs, letting loose a bunch of old doubts. It might as well be poison. Maybe there's a reason Keith never brought it up, and Lance is doing that thing again where he says too much, or is too much, or both.

"Keith, if it's not something you wanna do, you just have to say so."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say  _ anything." _

"I said  _ sure, _ Lance, what else do you want?"

"It's not just what  _ I  _ want, Keith!"

"Hey, okay," Hunk verbally jumps in between them, holding up his hands, "Can you guys wait until the rest of us have cleared out before you start arguing?"

**_"We're not arguing!"_ **

"Wow," Pidge sighs, "At the same time? Really? You guys were fine a second ago."

They pick up their shoes and socks and follow Allura out of the changing room, both of them being herded by Hunk's impatient beckoning. Hunk lingers in the doorway a few moments after the other two have gone down the hall, and it's just long enough for him to point at Lance and Keith, who are sitting in stubborn silence, glaring at their own feet.

"Seriously," he says, as level headed as always, "I know we're all tired and stressed from the mission but you guys  _ talk _ about whatever your damage is."

The door closes as Hunk ducks out. Neither of them say anything for several minutes, both of them unwilling to be the one that speaks first. After the silence has dragged its claws all over Lance, twice, he decides he can't stand that anymore, either, and sighs. He looks up at Keith, and is not surprised to find him frowning and wringing his hands the way he does exclusively when he's upset about something. Lance feels some of his own frustration give way.

"You  _ have _ to tell me what you're thinking," Lance says quietly, despairing that they're having this conversation again, "I can't read your mind, Keith. It's not one of my natural-born talents."

Keith huffs something close to a laugh and buries his face in his hands, pushing them back through his hair. They get caught right away on snags and snarls, and he groans softly, extricating his fingers from the net of tangles. He doesn't bother trying to comb any of them out, and it's killing Lance.

"I know," Keith says, "Sorry. I know…"

"So?" Lance prompts, reluctant to voice his own fears but knowing from experience that Hunk is right. He drops his gaze, rubbing his wrist. "What? Do you… Do you not wanna go on a date with me? I mean, I get it if you- if you don't.  It's kinda dumb and it came outta nowhere and - "

"No, Lance, I - I  _ do _ ," Keith says quickly, "It doesn't sound dumb, I do wanna go out with you. I didn't mean to sound like I didn't… care or whatever. I've just…" Keith sits back, looks away, then sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "I've just never… been on a date. I've never even  _ thought _ about going on a date. It's not something I was ever interested in and I never...had anybody that I actually… care about like that and want to be close to… And, I dunno aren't we like, too old for this or something?"

Keith looks appropriately embarrassed about having said this last part out loud, since it is just about the funniest thing Lance has ever heard in his entire life, and it takes all of Lance's willpower not to dissolve into tears of relief and laughter right on the spot.

"What are you talking about?" Lance crows, "Keith, we're like twenty years old!"

"Twenty-one," Keith says with a wince, like he can't believe he's made it to such a ripe age.

"Twenty, twenty-one, whatever! Keith, my parents _still_ go on dates because they are absolutely bananas about each other and they're _actually_ old! Dating isn't just a thing that teenagers do, god, you are _so_ adorable! You've seriously never been on a date before?"

"No," Keith says, scowling at having been called  _ adorable. _

"You think  _ I've ever  _ been on a date?"

The scowl lessens with clarity.

"I guess…. Not?"

"No!" Lance laughs, "When would I have  _ ever _ had a legitimate date, you idiot? I've been in space just as long as you have, and back at the Garrison girls weren't exactly pining over the goofy kid that kept talking during class and making the instructors mad by not remembering his homework."

"You have been on dates, though," Keith says after he's thought about it, mouth pulling into a slight frown.

"Okay, for starters, like - doing it as a favor to diplomats to help smooth over intergalactic disputes, or spur-of-the-moment outings with people that were actually trying to rob me - those don't count, Keith. Obviously." Lance bats his hand as if he can physically repel the memories.  Whether or not they were actually bad dates is irrelevant. He's not counting anything that he wasn't genuinely, emotionally invested in. "The fact that I've had more than one experience with both is - "

"Embarrassing?" Keith offers, lifting a smirk at him.

"It's... whatever." Lance drops his hands back into his lap and looks at Keith earnestly, "You said you wanna do this but you don't sound sure.  What are you worried about? You think you're going to bore me or something because you don't have anything interesting to say outside of Voltron business and building the Coalition?" The look on Keith's face says more than he probably means for it to - Lance has hit the nail with one swing. "Because  _ I'm  _ like  _ super  _ worried I'm gonna annoy you with how much I will not be able to shut up because of my nervous babbling."

Keith snorts, ducks his head to run his hand through his hair again. He starts working out some of the easier knots, more for something to do with his hands than because it actually bothers him.

"I don't want things to be weird," he admits, not looking at Lance, "Things are sort of great right now and… I don't want to ruin it."

"You think we're gonna ruin it by spending more time with each other?"

"Maybe…?"

"Keith, we're not," Lance laughs softly, "Besides, we sort of just skipped all the romantic stuff and jumped right into the domestic stuff. If anything  _ that's _ weird."

"Is it?"

"I dunno. I guess it doesn't matter. Listen, if we do it and it's weird or we're not having a good time, we can always come home, Keith. No one's going to trap us in a restaurant, tie us to a couple of chairs, and force us to awkwardly make small talk over entrees."

"You sure about that?" Keith is actually smiling now, and Lance returns it with warmth blooming in his chest. "We've made a lot of enemies."

"I'm pretty confident that, out of all possible scenarios, that one is the  _ least _ likely to occur."

Keith laughs once, just a short breath, a small  _ heh, _ and it is still such a thrilling sound that Lance keeps right on grinning, heart beating a mile a minute. He is never going to get tired of hearing that, not even if he lives to be ten thousand years old. The universe could tear itself apart tomorrow and Lance wouldn't even care as long as he got to hear Keith's voice one last time.

"I'm kind of…. Worried about the public aspect of it, too," Keith admits, "Being out, together...alone. People already talk."

"You're the one who's always saying it's nobody's business," Lance says, mostly to tease him, lifting an eyebrow. Keith closes his eyes and makes a noise that means  _ That's fair but I still don't like it, _ and Lance softens. "It's not like we're advertising. But I'm serious; if you don't want to, that's fine. I totally get it. We can do something else, or - "

"No," Keith says firmly, looking at Lance with an intensity that almost startles him, "I want to. I've kind of been wanting to bring it up for a while now, but I didn't really know how..."

"Really?" Lance asks, surprised but pleased. He doesn't think his heart can get any fuller right now.

"Yeah. I don't really think about that stuff - like,  _ actually _ going on a romantic date, instead of just hanging out - but I know you like it. I kind of thought it was weird that you didn't ask me out from the start, but by the time I thought about it we had kinda already settled into a routine and…" Keith shrugs off the rest.

Lance is smiling like his life depends in it.

Keith goes on determinedly, "How about… you pick the food, and I'll pick the activity or whatever."

"Alright," Lance laughs, "It's a date, then!"

Lance hops up from the bench and crosses the room, grabbing Keith's hands and stopping their frustrating and vain attempt to work through his hair. Lance puts Keith's hands down and then lifts his own again, holding Keith's face carefully between his hands and tipping his head up. The soft, expectant look in Keith's almost-violet eyes is more than enough to make Lance feel weak at the knees. Lance kisses one of Keith's eyes closed, then the other, feels any tension lingering in Keith's body go out with a soft sigh as Lance kisses his way across the bridge of Keith's nose, then his cheekbone.

He stops at Keith's temple, where his hair is still damp.

"Boy, you are just extra sweaty today, huh?"

"Shut up," Keith laughs.

His fist thumps Lance in the stomach, firm but playful. Lance doesn't let that stop him. Even when Keith turns, trying to twist his head out of Lance's grip, Lance holds him fast and continues dropping half kisses across Keith's face until they're both swaying and laughing from how absolutely stupid they are. Keith tugs on his wrists, a silent question, and Lance steps over the bench, straddling Keith's lap.

He pushes his fingers through Keith's hair, back from his face so they can kiss properly. He's glad he took his gloves and arm guards off already, but the rest of his suit is still frustratingly present and Keith - god love him - he smells. Not that Lance thinks he probably smells much better. It was a long mission. They've been in these suits for hours. And while there is something primal and attractive about the way Keith's hair is a total mess right now, and the way his whole body is still radiating heat, Lance wants to be  _ clean. _

He really should think before he starts things like this.

"Hey," Lance says, breaking the kiss, surprised by how wrecked his voice already is, "You wanna shower first, and then go back to our room and make out for a while? We've got a little while before that meeting…"

Keith makes a noise against his mouth. It's not a noise of assent, or disagreement. It's just a  _ huh _ sound, low in his throat, that gusts over Lance's lips and trembles all the way down to his chest and stomach; a sound that hits his navel hard.  _ Oh hell, _ Lance thinks, he should  _ definitely _ think before he starts something like this. Keith trails his fingertips up from Lance's waist, just barely pressing into the fabric of his flight suit. Its tantalizing, and Lance arches into the touch.

"Sure you can wait that long?" Keith asks, unnecessarily smug as Lance shudders against him.

"Babe, you stink," Lance asserts despite his body's obvious betrayal.

It's embarrassing how easily Keith manages to turn the tables on him in these situations. Not to mention unexpected. Lance likes to think he's the suave one, but he's also the one that's weak for this sort of thing.

Keith is generally disinterested in being physically intimate. He likes kissing and cuddling. He is adorably shy about holding hands for some reason. That's his Thing. But he has little trouble saying or doing what he wants once he does feel an inclination, as long as he knows Lance is up for it. "De-stressing" has always been a regular routine for him. It's not like Lance didn't know that. He still had to laugh when Keith wouldn't come right out and call it  _ masterbating, _ even though he was pretty embarrassed himself at the time because he kept getting a little too excited whenever they were making out and Keith had just offered to take care of him.

Lance had understandably balked.

Sex was off the table, right?

He didn't want to put Keith in an awkward situation by being overly excitable every time Keith put his hands on him. So Lance had kept pulling away, and sneaking off for some privacy, and taking longer showers even though he hates doing it in the shower, and feeling weird about thinking of Keith every time even though they're boyfriends and he is technically, officially allowed to  _ think _ about him. All this, until Keith caught on to him and told him that  _ "touching and stuff" _ was fine, and to  _ "just tell me outright when you wanna because I don't really pay attention to that stuff, Lance." _

Hence his very specific question.

And Keith's teasing.

If he didn't want to, he would have said no. But he does want to, and he knows Lance  _ wants _ to, so that makes him cocky. Lance quakes in the face of that confidence almost every single time. He is  _ weak, _ okay? Keith is  _ hot _ and his voice does that  _ thing, _ and Lance's insult that Keith stinks absolutely does not have the bite that he wants, considering he's really doing everything he can to get as close to Keith as possible.

Even with their chest armour in the way, he's not doing a bad job, but it's Keith who goes that extra mile.

He plants his feet more firmly on the floor, his hips shifting up as he drags Lance's down, and the resulting friction draws a barely stifled moan right from Lance's lips. It turns into a yelp when Keith suddenly rocks them both forward and stands, taking Lance with him with his hands firmly gripping the back of Lance's thighs. Upset by the shift in position, Lance hooks his ankles together around Keith's waist and all but smashes Keith's nose into his chest plate when he throws his arms around his shoulders.

Keith, for all that he's worth, doesn't drop him.

He puffs out a laugh against Lance's neck, shifting his grip slightly to support Lance's weight better. His fingers dig in, pulling them closer together, and Lance's breath gets stuck in his throat.

"That's was rude," he comments, twisting to see where they're going when Keith starts walking. His heart is still excited about it, carrying that electrified sensation to the soles of his feet. His wrist is tingling, and Lance flexes it. "What are you doing?"

"You just said 'shower first', didn't you?" Keith asks innocently, watching where he's going over Lance's shoulder, and Lance snorts.

"Alright, strong guy, are you seriously gonna carry me all the way to the showers?"

"Maybe."

He's got that stupid smirk on his face again. Unbelievable. Lance laughs, pulling him in for another sloppy, sideways kiss that makes Keith miss a step, which makes Lance squeeze his hips tighter, which makes Keith groan. Keith turns his head aside again to get away from him, grinning.

"You  _ want  _ me to drop you?"

"Maybe~"

\----

The southern Amestrian prefecture is a melting pot of alien cultures, pouring in from every corner of the small but densely populated galaxy. Most are recognizable to Lance, some obvious hybrids more difficult to guess; most have unique shapes, appendages, and colorations, but there is a sparse few that are bipedal, almost humanoid in appearance, so he doesn't feel as out of place as he usually does, standing in the crowded side street and gawking. All the strange activities and people around him, and it's the bright neon sign, twisted into alien letters, that hangs above the wide doors Keith is trying to lead him through, that has captured all of his attention.

Lance is getting his fill of it, letting it really sink in.

"I want to say I'm shocked," he says, chin tilted up to stare at the sign, "I really do. But honestly? This is almost exactly what I expected."

It's some sort of wrestling arena. Or a fighting tournament? A cage match? Something of that nature. Lance can't read the sign or any of the alien text on the advertising boards and posters lining the front of the building, but the intimidating caricatures of competitors, surrounded by action lines, and the brackets separating what are obviously names into matches on the moving board to the side of the door, makes their meaning clear enough.

Lance turns to look at Keith, who is just barely suppressing a grin, and squeezes his hand, giving it a shake. He lets his shoulders drop forward, his spine bending as he leans toward Keith.

"Our first date," he goes on, "Our very first date, and this is what you want to do? This is the fun, romantic activity you pick for us?"

He is playfully offended and Keith mirrors him, offended that he's offended.

"You said it could be anything!"

"I didn't say to test me!"

"You don't think it'll be fun watching a bunch of beefy guys beat the crap out of each other?"

Lance considers this. "Alright, mullet, you got me there."

Keith laughs and tugs on his hand, and Lance finally allows Keith to lead him inside. Keith bypasses the teeming line at the ticket booth and flashes what looks like some kind of pass to the pretty Hertian manning the door out from the lobby. He lets them into a narrow hall that is lit solely by the bright light at the end of it and Keith leads the way through there, as well, because there are other spectators milling through and they can't walk side by side.

There are so many people that their voices mesh together into a single roaring sound. Lance presses against Keith's back to ask, "What did you do, buy season passes or something?"

Keith turns his head.

"No, they gave them to me."

"What?"

"Hang on."

Keith puts one finger against his mouth. They can't talk like this. They can barely hear each other. There is another Hertian, a woman this time, at the end of the narrow hall, handing out pamphlets and an electronic card for the betting pool. Keith panics and takes both, but forgets to ask where their seats are. Lance pulls on his elbow to stop him from bolting off and takes the passes from him, asking in his place, and the Hertain smiles and points them in the right direction.

Lance moves his hand back into Keith's as they go around the arena and climb the stairs together. He's trying not to laugh. Keith breathes out, "It's not funny."

"You're right," Lance says, "It's cute. Will you relax, please?"

"I am relaxed."

"Keith, I can literally feel how sweaty your hands are."

It still takes them a few minutes and lots of turning around to find their seats. They're both staring down at the tickets, and staring at the signs posted on the walls and columns and aisles, and thinking this would be a lot less difficult if they could read whatever language this is. It's not the first time Lance has thought about bringing one of the Castle's handheld translators with him and then neglected to do so just because he didn't want to carry anything else in his pockets.

He needs to stop procrastinating and remember to ask Pidge and Hunk to work out an app for everybody's communicators. Their helmets and armor automatically do that - translate everything in real time - there's no reason their phones shouldn't be able to.

After triple checking to make sure they've got it right, Keith finally pulls them down into a couple of seats. It's a good spot. They're near the top, so they have an uninterrupted view of the arena. The seats aren't crowded as close together here as they are along the bottom rows - individual seats rather than smoothed down benches - and the few aliens that are filling them up seem to be of a more clean-cut variety than the rest. It gives Lance the impression that these are the expensive seats. He's not altogether surprised someone hooked them up.

That reminds him. He bumps Keith's arm with his fist, asks, "Who gave you these?"

"What?"

"The tickets? Passes? Whatever they are."

"Oh! The Amestrian Ambassador's personal assistant, Reece. When I told him what I wanted to do, he got me the tickets and helped me plan everything else."

_ "Everything else," _ Lance repeats it deliberately, grinning as he leans in, "Soooo, is there more than just this? Am I getting a surprise?"

Keith's got his poker face on, which means  _ yes. _ He probably knows that gives him away. It only lasts about a second before he's smirking.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," he says, then adds, with that worried crease appearing between his eyebrows, "Don't… hype yourself up about it. It's not… anything big or anything."

Lance gestures around good-naturedly.

"My expectations are understandably low, I think."

"Was this a bad idea...?"

"No, no no no. It's just not at all what I would have picked." Lance reaches over and grabs Keith's hand from where it's resting in a loose fist against his knee, just because he can. He smiles, and Keith smiles back before he drops his gaze to their joined hands. "You're stupid if you think I'm not going to enjoy every second of this, regardless of what happens. This is the first time we've ever gone somewhere for fun without the others. Feels kinda like we snuck off without permission."

"Takes you back to your Garrison days, huh?" Keith asks, curling his fingers around Lance's.

"At least I didn't get kicked out for punching people!"

The crowd has really filled out in the time they've been talking. When Lance glances around just to get an idea of when it might be starting, most of the seats around them are occupied. That doesn't bother him. He's more than used to crowds. He pulls his phone out, opens the camera. He meant to do this outside where the lighting was better - had meant to get a picture of Keith when he wasn't looking - and had gotten distracted.

They both decided to stay casual and not do anything super fancy. Amestrias has a chillier climate, so it's jeans and sweater weather; Lance is wearing a red pull-over with an alien snack logo on it, and Keith has a black leather jacket on over a purple long sleeve. He trimmed his hair so it isn't hanging in his face anymore, and has the rest pulled back into a ponytail, his few piercings on display, silver shining in the light. He's wearing the one cologne they both actually like that has Lance just wanting to lean in and put his entire face into Keith's shirt and get his oxygen that way, exclusively.

He looks  _ good. _ He made the effort to look good without Lance even asking him to, because he wanted to, and Lance's love is in full bloom right now, threatening to burst out of his chest.

"Take a selfie with me," he says, and then lays on the mock outrage at the face Keith immediately pulls, "It's our first date, Keith!"

And,  _ wow, _ does Lance wish he could use that excuse every time because it  _ works. _

Keith's pained grimace smoothes itself out instantly into soft surprise, and he says, "Fine," without any pleading or arguing. Lance is beaming, inside and out, literally glowing at he lifts the phone and Keith leans against his shoulder to be properly centered in the frame with him. He even makes a couple of stupid faces when Lance does, helps him pick out goofy filters to try and yells with laughter at the sometimes terrible results. He throws up his middle finger when Lance throws a peace sign, demands that Lance retake the ones he manages to blink in.

He puts his arm around Lance's shoulders. He turns his face at the last second and presses a kiss to Lance's cheek. The result is Lance's whole body flushing warmly, his expression in the photo bashful and surprised. Obviously, that one is his favorite, so he saves it to his home screen while Keith laughs.

Lance takes about a hundred photos.

And that's  _ after _ deleting the ones they don't like.

He happily ignores their surroundings, content to just exist in the same space as Keith and look at his phone and laugh at his boyfriends teasing comments. He actually almost forgets what they're doing there. The lights dim suddenly and the talkative noise dies down to an excited murmuring, accompanied by the occasional outburst or whistle. The spotlight in the center of the arena brightens in contrast and draws everyone's attention forward.

Lance pockets his phone, grins at Keith, who smirks back.

The announcer, a tall bipedal alien that neither of them can identify, walks into the center of the arena. It sort of reminds Lance of a sumo wrestling arena (seen exclusively through old poorly dubbed samurai movies) the way it's set up with dirt floors in a large circle surrounded by a low wall. There is a smaller circle painted or drawn into the bed of dirt in the direct center of the floor. This is where the announcer - referee? - is standing as he bellows out the welcoming ceremonials enthusiastically into the microphone.

Several holoscreens light up in the darkness near the ceiling, displaying the roster and a live feed of the announcers face up close and personal. There are small transparent ads buzzing around and an upswing in the noise and energy.

Lance tunes all this out, his eyes drawn to Keith again; he has pulled the pamphlet and card thingy out of his pockets to examine them. The announcer goes into a  _ for those of you new to the arena _ bit. It helps them figure out how the betting and that little card are supposed to work. The tiny screen at the top glows as Keith punches the info from their tickets into the keypad.

The announcer carries on below,

_ "Get those bets in quick, folks! The match is starting is seven bergles!" _

Lance has the pamphlet open.

"You would pick something that requires audience participation," he teases, grateful the text is in Common and not whatever the hell is all over the signs. Aliens are wild. "What are we supposed to bet with?"

"We don't have to bet or anything," Keith says, "We can just watch, if you want. But they credited us some money along with these seats."

He shows Lance the screen, the balance of alien currency resting in the top right corner. Neither of them really like the idea of spending someone else's money for something like this, even if it is freely given. It's not like they're going to gamble themselves into a hole or anything. They're not idiots. But they don't have a dime to their individual names - just cards that Coran gave them that have the new universal currency on them, that they rarely have to use anyway - so there's really no point in risking it in case there's a catch somewhere.

"Let's just watch," Lance says.

There are five tournament-style matches lined up, meaning there's going to be one champion at the end of the day. It turns out to be more exciting than Lance initially thought. He and Keith don't touch the betting card, but they have fun picking opposing sides in each match and then giving each other hell about their losses. They can both see right away that these are not actors pretending to fight for money - they are genuine athletes testing their strengths.

There are no weapons allowed in the ring. So they end up seeing a lot of different fighting styles from various aliens, large and small. It's nice to be able to observe without being on the recieving end, to be honest. The announcer keeps up a dialogue through the entire thing, pointing out personal technique, elaborating on their origins, and just having a good time commentating on a blow that struck with lightening precision or the moves that didn't land as well as anticipated.

Neither of them really pays attention to how much time has passed until the third match begins to drag into its second varga, and Keith turns to Lance.

"You didn't make us reservations or anything, did you?"

"No no, we're good," Lance says, checking the time on his communicator anyway, "Besides, it's still early. And we agreed to keep it casual, right? You don't make reservations at a burger joint, Keith."

"If you found a place that serves actual burgers out here I might just kiss you."

"I wish for several reasons that cows were a universal thing, now. Even though I feel a little bad about saying that because of Kaltenecker. But she can't hear me, so she can't hold it against me. Also, what? Excuse me? Were you not gonna kiss me on our date?"

"Not until the end," Keith says, eyes on the arena. He's smirking though. "If you earned it."

Lance just makes a loud, indignant noise because he doesn't know how else to react to that. His boyfriend has zero self awareness. That's why they're sitting in a stifling arena watching two beefy aliens wail on each other. Well - one beefy alien  _ trying _ to wail on the other, smaller alien, who is just nimble enough to stay out of his reach, which is why this is dragging on.

"Check out this guys arms," Keith says.

He's frowning slightly, eyes focused on the fight. Lance glances at him and then at the combatants below, says, "Yeah, they're the same size as Hunk."

It's only a slight exaggeration. The alien is enormous. Keith lifts his hand to point, that delicate crease forming between his eyebrows as he clarifies.

"His wrists."

Lance looks again.

"Those look like scars to you?"

They do.

Lance sees them as soon as Keith draws attention to them, and he knows exactly what leaves behind those types of orbiting scars around the wrists, and ankles, and throat. The alien moving in the arena has all of these, jagged and white against the off-grey blue of his skin tone. A hide that is marked with scars. An overall grim look in the set of his huge jaw. A muted desperation in his movements as he grapples with his opponent that quickly gives way to confidence when the other is finally in his grasp and easily hurled from the ring.

The crowd goes wild. Partly with relief that the fight is over, but chanting the alien's name in tandem with their beating fists and feet.

"You think he's a prisoner?"

"Probably used to be."

"You don't think Reese would have recommended this place to us if they got most of their competitors from slave trading, do you?"

Keith hums noncommittally.

"Maybe he doesn't know," Lance offers.

"Maybe," Keith says. They both watch as the big alien thrusts his fists into the air and roars his victory from the center of the arena before stalking off. Sweat darkens the dirt beneath his bare feet. "I don't think so. The atmosphere's all wrong in here for that sort of thing. He was probably a prisoner liberated by us or someone else. There are lots of rebel factions in this quadrant. It's why we're trying to bring them all into the Coalition and restore some order, right?"

Lance nods his head in agreement, but he's silent for a while.

"Why do this after fighting for your life in the gladiator ring?" he muses, frowning and folding his arms. He leans into Keith shoulder. "Why not do literally anything else with your new freedom?"

"Maybe it's the only thing he knows how to do."

Lance chews on that only long enough for it to unsettle him somewhat. If the universe were at peace and everything had calmed down, if he could go back to Earth and just be with his family and live his life, what would he even do with it? It's not quite the same as being held captive and forced to fight for his next breath. ….But it's not entirely dissimilar, either.

He can't imagine himself doing anything other than this.

Lance takes a deep, steadying breath.

"Keith, the love of my life," he says emphatically, clapping his hands, "We're not supposed to talk about work or work-related things on our date. That's the whole point!"

Keith breaks into an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll forgive you  _ this _ time."

_ "This time," _ Keith parrots, eyebrows raising.

"Because I'm sure you'll slip up again."

"I think I can hold out longer than you if I'm properly motivated."

"Oh? So, what? First one to talk about work has to - ?"

"Make all of the delegation calls for the next two movements."

"No, that's not fair, I do that anyway!"

"Yeah, but if you win then  _ I'll _ do it," Keith points out, hitting him with that confident and yet condescending smirk that has Lance's blood pressure rising. He doesn't know whether to be excited by that provoking gaze or annoyed by it. Keith cooley folds his arms and sinks back into his seat. He tips his chin up, spreads his knees. "Unless you think you'll slip up first."

"There is  _ no way _ that I'm slipping up first," Lance assures him, moving his hands and looking away to stop himself from climbing into Keith's lap and making out with him in a very public space.

That combo  _ does _ things to him and Keith  _ knows _ it.

Very unfair.

"So do I get penalized for losing, too? Since I'm just going to have to do my own job, anyway? It's not exactly a punishment."

"You  _ want _ a punishment?" Grinning, Lance opens his mouth - Keith scowls at him, or tries to. He's struggling not to grin, too. "Don't say something weird."

"Aw, babe, you gave me the perfect chance, though."

"Lance."

"Fine," Lance relents, "I won't ask you to spank me."

Keith puts his face in his hands and bends over his lap. His ears are red. He resurfaces a few moments later with some resolve. Lance doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty, grinning widely. He had to sit here and fight an urge, Keith can fight through his embarrassment.

"If you lose," Keith says, "You don't get your surprise."

_ That _ is unfair.

"Fine!" Lance says, readily accepting the challenge.

The fourth match has already gotten started. Neither of them are even paying attention to it, too busy enjoying the byplay. They do that a lot - forget other people and the world around them even exists because the pull between them is so strong. Normally, one of the others is around to give them shit about it and put them back on task. Today they get to enjoy just  _ being _ with each other, and Lance is reveling in all of Keith's attention, even if he is being difficult on purpose.

Lance loves that.

He loves everything about Keith.

The loves the smile in his eyes, the bright violet that stands out in this lighting. The soft dark hair touching his cheeks and the strong line of his jaw, the tight pull of his jacket around his biceps as he folds his arms over his chest. The spicy scent of his cologne.

A particularly loud outburst from the crowd snaps their attention forward.

The fan favorite since round one isn't doing so well, and people are getting heated about it.

Lance and Keith sneak a grin at one another. Keith reaches over into Lance's lap and grabs his hand again, just to hold it, and Lance would rather be right here in this noisy arena, surrounding by furiously yelling aliens, than anywhere else in the universe.

\----

The huge alien whom Lance and Keith suspected of being a former slave of the Empire wins his final match with gusto to spare. Lance and Keith join in the applause and cheers. Lance lets loose a shrill whistle that makes Keith shove him down into the seat with a laugh. One of the holo screens overhead announces the grand prize, and a myriad of other things, spinning and flashing its delight.

The champion stands center stage with the announcer close by, his enormous chest still heaving with exertion as he stares grimly ahead.

The audience begins to break up in places since the tournament is clearly over, gathering belongings and rising to their feet, chattering among themselves. The announcer is speaking animatedly, voice booming from the unseen speakers,  _ "Ladies and gentlemen, If I could hold your attention for just a moment longer! We have an unexpected development!" _

This understandably piques everyone's interest. There's some shuffling and talking as people find their seats again. Keith is already half out of his, ready to go, but he eases back down with a short glance at Lance, who also plops into his seat, perched on the edge.

_ "It has been brought to my attention that we have among our number some esteemed guests!" _

There is a beat for applause, excitement rising.

Lance and Keith look at each other with a sinking feeling.

"What are the chances that he's  _ not _ talking about us?" Lance mutters. 

"Slim," Keith says, eyes narrowing.

The words are barely said before the announcer is bellowing,  _ "THE PALADINS OF VOLTRON!!!" _ and making a grand, sweeping gesture toward where they're seated in the stands.

The spotlight follows the motion fluidly, so sudden that it's blinding. Keith and Lance have half a second to force their expressions into something appropriate, to not look surprised or annoyed by the sudden onslaught of attention that crashes over them like a wave, a deafening array of cheers. It isn't like they're not used to it - being treated like celebrities and heroes comes with the mantle of being a Paladin of Voltron and working to bring peace to the universe.

It is just very, very unwanted right now.

It's easier to deal with if you've got some warning first. Keith goes still and stoic beside him, which Lance instantly reads as him being furious. Lance's heart kicks up in his chest, not nervous, exactly, but almost dreading what's to come. But he smiles and lifts his hand with practiced ease, and tries to keep his focus straight ahead.

He can't imagine what the point of calling them out like this is.

Once the noise has died down a bit, the announcer goes on, eating up the renewed energy thrumming in the arena like it's his entire life force.

_ "Our regular patrons understand that certain guests to the arena are offered the special privilege of participating in a one-on-one match with the Champion - to contest their skills in combat, and for a chance to get their varsneks on that glowing grand prize! It is my honor to extend that sought out offer to the admirable Leader of Voltron, the Black Paladin Keith!" _

The roar of applause is deafening at this point, thunderous.

Lance looks at Keith and sees the tension in his jaw and the way his eyebrows come together in a barely masked glare. They've gotten stuck in a hard spot.

But the guy who couldn't bear to ask the super nice lady where their seats were, after awkwardly taking the things he was offered without saying a word, has no trouble at all firmly turning down the weighted invitation in a crowded arena, with hundreds of faces turned toward him in expectation. Keith just barely raises his voice, his answer perfectly clear regardless,

"No thanks. We just came to watch."

The disappointed sound the announcer makes sounds bated, rehearsed. A murmur of disappointment also rolls along the crowd. Lance squeezes Keith's elbow, earning himself a sideways glance.

"I think you have to do it," he says under his breath.

Keith scoffs, "Are you joking?"

"No, listen," Lance says, talking quickly, "They're offering you a challenge, you can't just turn it down. It's like a… social obligation? That's not totally right. It's - it's  _ like  _ that. ...Do you get what I'm saying?"

"No," Keith says, not bothering to mask his frustration.

"Keith,  _ you're the Leader of Voltron," _ Lance says steadily, not once breaking eye contact with him, "If you're not willing to face their strongest champion in a fair fight, then you're either a weakling or a coward, or they're going to think you think you're too good to get down at their level and get your hands dirty. Allura and the others are in negotiations right now trying to secure our alliance with their diplomats and leaders, but these are the people that are going to be affected most by the outcome of that. They aren't going to trust us or want to have anything to do with us if the person who's paving the way for peace is any of those things."

The two seconds while Keith takes this in are unbearably long. Then, so only Lance will hear him, his voice somewhat strained, he says, "Today's supposed to be about  _ us." _

He doesn't even give Lance a chance to answer.

Keith is rising to his feet, eyes forward, face set in that determined look that has Lance's stomach flipping unexpectedly as Keith shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it behind on the seat.

Just him standing is enough.

It's the signal that everyone was waiting for.

The arena shakes with the resulting applause; with the cheers and bellows, the chorus of feet stomping and hands clapping, chirps and clicks and shrill whistles; the energy climbing into a crescendo as Keith steps out of the aisle and down the stairs. Lance's heart is beating with the building rhythm, heavy in his chest as he watches.

_ "That's the sort of tenacity we like to see, folks!!" _ the announcer declares.

Keith steps over the low wall of the arena. He sheds his long sleeve and undershirt in one fluid motion, grabbing the back of the collars and pulling them both off over his head. He yanks off his boots without bothering to undo the laces and tosses them against the wall where he leaves his shirts and belt and the sheath housing his Blade, and he strides, bare foot and bare-chested, across the dirt floor of the arena. The black jeans and dark hair create a stark contrast against his pale skin, almost glowing under the bright lights.

The size difference between Keith and his hulking opponent is almost comical. The alien towers over him, eyes narrowed appraisingly as Keith folds his arms and stands facing him with his chin lifted, with his spine straight and shoulders squared, with one foot kicked out in front of him so that the entire posture seems almost indifferent in its confidence. The transformation from sweet, goofy boyfriend Keith to Black Paladin Keith is effortless, enthralling to watch.

Lance gropes blindly into Keith's seat and pulls his jacket into his lap just for something to hold onto. Not that he's worried. It's not like it's a death match.

It's not like he hasn't watched Keith drop larger opponents with his bare hands before.

His heart is still acting like he hasn't.

The announcer is sprinting eagerly back into the sidelines, shouting out the usual rules over the tumultuous sound of the crowd,  _ "The match is over when your opponent yields or is thrown from the ring!" _

A bell sounds to signal the start of the fight, just like all the other rounds before it. The big alien doesn't waste any time. Lance doesn't know whether he's underestimating Keith because of his size, or if he's just trying to end the match quickly and get back to basking in his victory. He lunges for Keith with both hands as if to throw him from the ring.

Keith rolls underneath his enormous reach. He slides in the dirt and springs right back in to take advantage of the opening, lands a weighty kick right in the alien's side.

If he had kept his boots on it might have broken a rib.

The alien grunts, off balanced by the blow, and topples to the ground. He claws his way back up in an instant but Keith has already backed off again. Keith has the advantage of speed. All his extra training with the Blades over the years has enhanced his already natural agility. He knows to compensate for his shorter reach with the length of his body. He knows to use his opponents greater size and strength against them. He is small and quick enough to escape even the closest calls - and hardy enough to withstand it when they do finally come to blows.

A powerful fist slamming into his back sends Keith into the dirt, hard enough that he bounces. It snaps the breath out of his lungs. He stills forces himself up, gritting his teeth, rolling in time to catch the alien coming down on top of him with another solid kick, aimed for the throat, which snaps his opponent's head back with a gross  _ crack. _ It elicits an uproar of surprise from the audience. Keith scrambles out from under him as the alien goes down, momentarily wheezing, clutching his neck.

Apparently that wasn't enough to break his neck or crush his windpipe. The alien is rolling his neck, vertebrae cracking, as he climbs to his feet again, raging.

Keith pants, pulling air into his aching lungs.

Sweat streaks through the dust clinging to his body, lightening his hair and his dark jeans. His footsteps are steady, deliberate as he paces in a wide circle.

The bright lights focused on the center of the arena make it easy to forget that the crowd exists. The rush of adrenaline pumping through his system makes it easy to drown out all noise aside from the beat of his pulse and the rush of his own breath. He closes himself off from the burn in his muscles and the ache of fresh bruises darkening his skin, and lets his instincts take over, lets his body just  _ move _ with him in it, because he has done this a hundred, hundred times.

Watching from the stands, Lance is on the edge of his seat. Aware of every hitch in Keith's breath or movements, every drop of sweat sliding from his chin or down the broad curve of his back, every strand of wild hair pulled out of place as the ponytail slips. He is also hyper-aware of the crowd. The way they chant Keith's name as the fight seems to lean in his favor, the unpronounceable name of the alien when it begins to lean the other way. He clutches Keith's jacket tightly in both hands as the match continues, each minute agonizingly long, each second too quick.

Keith doesn't quite manage to get out of the way of another blow that sends him skidding across the arena, desperately close to the edge before he gets his feet under him again.

Lance is yelping,  _ "Come on!" _ without realizing how caught up in it he is.

His hands clutch at the cologne-heavy fabric, slamming  something solid, unexpectedly so, into his chest. It's enough to distract him from what's happening in the arena. Lance glances down at Keith's jacket, moves his hand again and lands on the hard thing. What feels like a box, small enough to fit neatly in his hand, tucked into one of the wide hidden pockets on the inside lining of the jacket rather than the outside pockets that are easier to reach.

Lance's mind blanks out for a second wondering what it is. He is jarred back into the present, the physical  _ now, _ by a sudden uproar from the crowd.

Several people rising to their feet around him.

The cheers a head-pounding wave, drowning out all else.

Keith has the bigger alien on the ground -  _ finally _ \- though this development seems to have shocked the rest of the crowd - the arm he's holding twisted behind the alien's back obviously, forcefully yanked out of the socket, foot planted in the vulnerable soft spot in his lower back. There is a tense moment as the alien struggles in vain to break Keith's hold.

Each breath the alien heaves out scatters dust, each bunch of his muscles compensated for by a shift in Keith's weight and a relentless dig into his kidneys.

With a grunt, he yields.

Keith releases him.

The stands go wild with approval and disbelief.

The announcer sprints over as Keith is stepping back, grabs him by the wrist before Keith can do much more than scowl at him, and hoists his arm into air, belting out,  _ "OUR CHAMPION!!"  _ The response is otherworldly. The rest of his words are swallowed up by the new chant beating through the crowd with the same frenzied intensity,  _ Vol-tron! Vol-tron! Vol-tron! _

Keith looks stunned as he looks around, his chest heaving.

He pulls his arm away while the announcer is still talking and makes his way toward his clothes on the low wall of the arena; shoots a glance toward the alien, who picks himself up with impressive dignity. The big behemoth grips his loose, dangling arm by the shoulder, making eye contact with Keith as he shoves it back into place with nothing in his grim face to give away the pain. He stalks off in the opposite direction. Keith picks up his belongings but doesn't stop to put them on.

Watching him, Lance is half out of his seat, gripping the armrest, clutching his jacket, wondering if Keith is coming back up or - 

Keith's eyes flicker across the crowd, connect with Lance's.

He jerks his head and walks around the perimeter of the arena instead of climbing back up into the stands. A thousand voices chase after him. Lance leaps to his feet.

He catches up with Keith at the exit point. One of the attendants is holding him up, trying to direct him down another hallway rather than the one that leads out. Keith is frowning hard like he's listening, but he's not speaking. He's still breathing hard, carrying his clothes and boots. Lance jogs up beside him and reaches out to wrap his hand around Keith's elbow.

His skin is warm.

He starts at the touch, and Lance withdraws his hand.

In the dimmer light of the hallway, Keith's sclera are glowing dimly yellow, his pupils narrowed.

The Hertian motions again, "If you'll step this way, Black Paladin, there is a place for you to clean up and collect your winnings. There is a medic, as well, if you have need of one."

"C'mon, babe," Lance murmurs, moving him in that direction by stepping that way himself.

Keith automatically steps in front of him. The Hertian looks relieved and guides them down a secondary hall, and into a large, brightly lit room that the competitors use. There are a handful of benches and open cubbies in the wall on one side, a row of closed off showers on the other. The Hertian lets the two of them in and then gives them a short bow with their hands clasped together, smiling, "The director will be in to see you momentarily. Please take your time and freshen up. It was a spectacular fight, I was honored to witness. Your prowess is quite unmatched, Black Paladin."

They close the door when they leave, clearly not expecting their praise to be acknowledged in any away. Which is good, because Keith doesn't even look like he heard them. He stands in the center of the room, fidgeting with his clothes. His eyes are trained on the door, but his gaze is glazed and far-away - still Galra yellow. Any other time, that would be a big turn on. This time, Lance moves to lean his back against the door, keeping Keith's jacket folded over his arm.

Keith's attention jumps to him, then away.

He drops his clothes and boots on the nearest bench and shucks off his dirty jeans.

By the time he has washed away the accumulated sweat and dirt from the arena, toweled off, and dressed again, wiping down his jeans as best as he can, someone is knocking on the door. Keith glances up from where he's untying the laces of his boots and just keeps doing what he's doing. Lance moves out from in front of the door and lets in the director - a portly pink alien less than half Lance's size, who is dressed like he does considerably well running this sort of business.

Keith's hair is damp and hanging in his face again as he bends over to pull on his socks and boots.

"Impressive," the director says in a loud, to the point voice. He's beaming up at Lance, who frowns back and doesn't say anything - at Keith, who ignores him entirely. "Of course, I would expect nothing less from the Defenders of the Universe," he goes on, undaunted, "I want to thank you for your participation in our little publicity stunt. It's always good to give the spectators their money's worth - something unexpected and exciting every now and then. They'll leave here and talk about it for phoebs! And you did quite well for yourself! Not," he chortles, "That there was any doubt. You're winnings - "

"I don't want it," Keith says, finishing with one boot and pulling on the other. The director is already in the process of fishing one of those little cards out of the vast breast pocket on his left side. He stalls long enough for Keith to add, "Give it to the other guy."

Lance almost expects a fuss.

There's a pause for one, the only sounds in the room the soft brush of Keith's laces threading together, the groan as they tighten into a knot when he yanks on them. Keith stands, pulling his long sleeve back on - covering the bruises forming on his ribs, dotting his back, peppering his arms.

The director dips his head in acknowledgement, tucking the card away.

"Powerful  _ and _ charitable," he says, "Admirable qualities, Black Paladin."

\----

Their Hertian guide is waiting just outside the door when they try to leave, and they lead Keith and Lance through the winding corridors so they can go out the back and not draw anymore unwanted attention to themselves. Lance doesn't know if they're under orders to do it, of it they decide to do it on their own. Either way, he thanks them graciously. The last thing he wants is to be flocked by a huge crowd and have to suffer through more niceties when he is really not in the mood for it, and he knows that Keith feels the same way.

He maybe should have guessed that they might run into the alien Keith fought in the arena back here - it  _ is _ the competitors exit. Pretty obvious stuff. The big guy is waiting for them, too, in the private street behind the building. He's leaned against the wall, just as grim-looking and intimidating as ever, even though he's actually dressed now rather than stripped down to the bare essentials of a fighting garb. He pushes off from the wall and steps forward the moment the door closes.

Keith is still shrugging his jacket back on, eyeing the alien warily as he approaches them.

He stops at a respectable distance.

He's a  _ lot _ bigger up close. He towered over Keith in the arena, and he towers over Lance now, too, wider with more densely packed muscle than the both of them put together, and then some. Lance is still geared up from the stress of watching the fight - from Keith barely speaking - from this whole stupid, annoying situation. He shifts closer to Keith, grasps him by the elbow again.

Keith doesn't seem to notice.

He stares up at the alien, who stares silently back.

Then the alien grunts, thumps himself once in the chest with a solid fist, and that seems to be that.

He turns and lumbers off down the street, and Lance releases his breath in a long, low sigh, trying to relax. He's still clutching stubbornly at Keith's elbow and he glances down at where he's holding on. Keith's hand is in his pocket, his face turned away to watch the alien disappear around the distant corner. Lance almost pushes his hand through and loops their arms together, but he doesn't know if the gesture is wanted right now, that anxiety forming a knot in his stomach.

He gives Keith's arm a small tug, instead, then lets his hand drop.

"You ready to go?" he asks.

"Yeah," Keith says.

They flew a shuttle here from the Castle and parked it nearby, but the streets are so packed with vehicles and pedestrians and weird floating signs that they decided early on that walking around would be less frustrating than trying to navigate the masses. Lance takes the lead this time, and Keith walks beside him, only half a step behind. They travel a couple of blocks in the crisp cold air, barely noticing it. Keith eventually takes another hair tie out of his pocket and pulls his hair back again, combing his fingers through it as he works it into a ponytail.

The scent of his cologne lingers on his jacket, but it's washed from the rest of him.

Compulsively, Lance reaches out to feel the back of his head, his damp hair.

He frowns.

"It's not gonna dry like that." It's cold. Keith's hair is thick, and it's holding moisture, and it's all bunched together now. Keith's ears and the back of his neck are cold, his cheeks slightly flushed. Lance doesn't want him to get sick or anything, resists the urge to touch his face with the back of his hand. "You want to pop inside at like a cafe or something and sit down for a minute? We can get something to drink and warm up before we go eat."

"It's fine, Lance," Keith says, looking at his bruised knuckles. He picks at the loose skin where one of them busted open and doesn't lift his eyes for a while.

Lance feels like his insides are under intense pressure, like his lungs are going to collapse. 

"...Did this ruin our date?" he asks quietly.

"No, Lance."

"Right."

Keith stops walking. Lance stops and looks back at him, and tries really hard not to feel upset and angry. He notices pretty suddenly the way Keith's mouth is set, tight and trembling, the way his breath is heaving slightly out his nose. Keith swallows hard, glaring at the ground, and then he pulls in a breath that barely stutters, a deep resilient one that expands his chest and shoulders and straightens his back, and then he let's it all out in a rush, bowing over.

He clutches his face with both hands, swipes his bangs back, grits his teeth, and makes an aggravated sound that is so close to a growl that Lance flinches.

"Sorry," Keith bursts out, "Yeah. I wanna - let's go sit down. I'm so -  _ pissed off. _ This is  _ exactly _ what I was afraid was going to happen!! This is  _ exactly _ why I didn't want to do this! We can't have any  _ fucking _ privacy! What the fuck is wrong with people, Lance!"

"Hey. Okay. It's okay," Lance says, not startled, exactly. Kind of relieved.

He reaches out to grab Keith by the hand and quickly pulls him off the sidewalk, across the street to what he really hopes is a space coffee shop or something. His hunch and quick appraisal are correct. A little bell sings overhead as the glass door slides open and he leads Keith inside.

It's at least six degrees warmer in here than it is outside, almost toasty under their coats, and it smells amazing, rich and sweet and heavy on the air. It's not overcrowded despite the busy street. A couple of the small tables are occupied, and there is a group of aliens, young, unmistakably girls, chittering in front of the pastry display - or that's what Lance guesses it is. There's definitely snack food in there.

He points toward the back, around a corner, where there are empty tables tucked into a little nook.

"Grab us a table and I'll get our drinks."

Keith makes a beeline for the most secluded table the establishment has to offer, and Lance heads to the counter. Typical. He can't read anything off the menu. The owner, a thin, reedy-looking alien, smiles at him and says something he doesn't understand, in a language that sounds more like singing than talking. It sounds like it should be familiar, but Lance can't make himself place it. He is woefully unprepared for this. He would pick the one place that doesn't speak Common.

The girls nearby see his struggle and one of them offers to translate for him, and doesn't laugh in a mean way when he confesses that he has no idea what to even order. They happily make suggestions when he tells her what he wants. The owner can't understand him, but - of course - they recognize him. When Lance tries to pay with the card Coran gave him, the owner waves him away. They point down, below the counter, and when Lance looks he is surprised to see a kid with enormous eyes, clutching one of the many Coalition posters that get distributed any time they're going to be in an area.

It's one of Lance's, grinning proudly in his red armour.

And… yeah.

He absolutely gets why Keith is upset, and why he wasn't so eager to do this in the first place. Because it is pretty frustrating when he can't even make one small purchase without getting his attention diverted, when all he wants to do is be with Keith.

Lance smiles, though, because that's what he's good at. He holds his hand out in a silent offer, because it's the least he can do if he's not going to pay. The kid lights up, smooths the poster out on top of the counter and passes Lance a marker. He signs the poster and thanks the girls - who are shooting him new, appraising looks and chittering in their native tongue again - and he walks away with two tall, gently steaming cups and a huge freshly wrapped pastry package balanced in his hands.

Keith has his head down on the small table in the corner, his hair fanned out across his shoulders. Lance can tell by the measured way his back is moving up and down that he's breathing calmly and reciting that old mantra of Shiro's in his head.

Specifically the  _ patience _ part, probably.

Lance takes the seat across from him, frees up his hands so he can lay one warm palm against the crown of Keith's head and move it through his soft hair. Keith sighs against the table top, relaxing instantly. Lance smiles and cards his fingers through Keith's hair for a few minutes, helping it dry, calming him down, rubbing his scalp. He's going to have to remind himself fifty times to ask Keith later if he wants a massage, because he is bound to be tense and sore.

Finally, Keith sits up and blows out another sigh.

Lance slides him the beverage first, "It's hot, and I have no idea what it is, so drink with caution," and then the pastry, "And here."

Keith has already popped the lid off his cup to smell it before he tastes it, steam caressing his face as he inhales deeply. Lance gets a whiff of cinnamon, maybe. The heat doesn't bother Keith; he takes in a huge mouthful right away with no fear for his tongue or his taste buds. Lance almost wonders if it was a good idea on his part, if he should have gotten him a water first or something. But when Keith's brow creases, it's because he's looking at the pastry.

"I thought we were going to dinner," he says, voice strained after swallowing the burning liquid a bit too quickly.

"I don't think one croissant or whatever this is will spoil your appetite, dude," Lance laughs, already unwrapping it for him, "I know you've gotta be starving."

He's right on both accounts. Keith practically inhales the pastry, barely hindered by the weird filling neither of them can name, and looks like he could have easily eaten a dozen of them. Afterward, he sits sipping at his drink, holding it in both his hands with his face practically tucked into it.

He's sore. And annoyed by the exhibition.

Lance doesn't blame him.

"I shouldn't have told you you had to do that," he says, more than ready to apologize.

Keith lifts his head.

"No. You were right. There was no good way to get out of it without offending someone. Or everyone. And causing a huge ugly scene," Keith says, scowling again at the thought. Lance sighs, staring into his drink. "I'm sorry I'm mad. I'm not… mad at you, Lance. That wasn't you."

"I know."

"This was fun until it got stupid…."

"There's no reason it can't still be fun," Lance says hopefully, lifting a small but teasing grin at him, "I can pick a fight with someone from the kitchen when we go eat, if that'll make you feel better."

Keith snorts. It's not a laugh, but it's close.

"Are you okay?" Lance asks, his brow creasing. He feels like he should have asked sooner.

"'M fine."

"We can just go home, if you - "

"No," Keith says firmly. He gets to his feet, snapping the lid back onto both of their drink so they don't spill them on the street and frowning with determination as he takes Lance by the hand and pulls him up, too. "I'm okay. We're doing this. Some pudgy alien exploiting us for profit isn't going to ruin our good time, not when you've waited so long for a real date. Not when you  _ deserve _ one."

He's so passionate about it all of a sudden, so  _ determined, _ that Lance can't help blushing. It's very noticeable once Keith has dragged him outside and the cold hits his burning cheeks. He's smiling broadly, heart fluttering away, but trying to tamp it down, chuckling, "I don't know about that - "

"You deserve nice things, Lance." He gets some great eye contact with that, Keith's eyes such a rich purple they look almost lilac in the still blue air. His sclera have returned to normal. Lance didn't quite notice when they had faded back to white. "So let's go eat. I'm starving. And we still have some time to walk around the shopping district or something before we have to head back to the shuttle. Your surprise is on the way home, so it can wait until we're done."

"Ah." Lance deflates a little. "I brought up work, though?"

"What?"

"The bet. Remember? We're not supposed to talk about work or work-related on our date, Keith," he recites, motioning with his cup, "That's the whole point."

"The bet was stupid. Forget it. You're getting the surprise."

"You didn't have to - "

Keith's tone is gentle as he squeezes Lance's hand.

"I know I didn't  _ have _ to, Lance."

\----

Lance is difficult to talk to sometimes.

He doesn't  _ listen. _ He has no trouble hearing what Keith is saying, but processing it and retaining it are an entirely different matter, and both of those things faltering present a unique set of complications. Lance either doesn't take what he says to heart, dismissive for whatever self-conscious reason, or he forgets and has to be reminded no less than a dozen times.

They still have trouble communicating. They still fight, and argue, but it is nothing like before, and they never stay angry at each other for long - mostly because they can't bear to sleep apart. That first night together ruined them both on sleeping in their own respective beds.

Keith is fine with that.

Lance wakes him up moving around some nights, but Keith finds that he sleeps better sharing a bed with someone than he ever did sleeping alone. It puts him at ease. Being able to feel Lance's warmth and hear Lance's deep breathing. Being able to reach out at any time during the night and put his hand on Lance's arm, or put his head on Lance's back and hear the steady thump of his heartbeat.

It reminds Keith of what being home felt like.

Out of the two of them, Keith never thought he would be the one that was the most comfortable being in a relationship. He fell into the rhythm with surprising ease. He eats up the attention and physical affection Lance gives him and is quick to reciprocate however he can.

Sometimes, he does get stuck.

He second-guesses. He closes himself off. He turns his thoughts inward and forgets to vocalize. He understands when Lance gets frustrated with him in these moments; they frustrate Keith, too. It's habit. It's a deeply embedded self-defense mechanism, a withering shell he hasn't quite shed yet.

He's trying to be better.

But Lance doesn't  _ listen _ to him about oddly specific things, and that's frustrating too.

When Keith tells him he deserves to have nice things and Lance's first instinct is to deny it, or to laugh it off as a joke. When Keith does any little thing for him and Lance tries to tell him that he doesn't  _ have _ to, really, it's stupid; when Keith says that he did it because he  _ wanted to _ and because he knew  _ Lance _ wanted him to, even if Lance didn't say it. He acts as if the gesture or the attention or the asking for something that he wants is somehow too much.

Keith doesn't know why Lance seems to be under the impression that he's forcing him to do anything.

(They both know Keith is too stubborn and defiant to be bullied by anyone, even Lance, who can be just like that. They're too much alike in that regard.)

Keith brings Lance flowers back from his missions because they remind him of Lance when he's not with him, and because he knows Lance is all about romantic stuff like that. Keith gives Lance his jacket because he gets too warm with it, anyway, and because he knows Lance gets cold easier than he does. He does it because Lance's blue eyes light up, and his face turns ruddy against his dark skin, and he smiles this big dumb grin at him like he's trying to contain it but he just can't.

_ That _ makes Keith happy.

But he worries sometimes that Lance is holding himself back a little. And he thinks that maybe it's the sex thing. Not to make it sound like it's a Thing. It's not. They get intimate every now and then (okay, a  _ lot) _ , but they haven't actually had sex. Lance has never brought it up again, and Keith never really thinks about it unless Lance has him all fired up, and then he's usually pretty occupied at the moment.

He's starting to wonder if that's part of the reason that Lance feels like he can't ask for what he wants, or doesn't like to accept certain gestures of affection. It took Keith weeks to figure out why Lance would stop kissing him, or brush his hands away, or sneak off by himself after they got pretty heavy. Because Keith is an idiot. And he put that wall up between them right out of the gate - something that doesn't affect him in anyway because his feelings are pretty neutral on the matter, but is impacting Lance quite a lot - without thinking anything of it.

He's thinking of it now.

Probably slightly inappropriate, considering they're at dinner….

Lance picked a place that serves Verkln cuisine. Keith can't pronounce any of it - he opted to point to what he wanted on the menu rather than embarrass himself in the attempt and have Lance laugh at him - and he has no idea what any of it  _ is, _ but he loves it. It's his favorite space food. Lance knows that, which makes it even better. He's always doing stuff like that. Remembering Keith's favorite things, even though Keith doesn't think he talks very much.

The restaurant is a small place with lots of comfy rooms and mismatched tables and low warm lights, and a friendly staff who clearly know who they are but go out of their way to keep the room Lance and Keith are sitting in mostly empty.

It's relaxing after the Event from earlier.

"So, what's up with that thing you're supposed to be doing for the Blades?" Lance asks out of the blue.

It shakes Keith out of his thoughts.

He stops stabbing his… whatever it is…. long enough to look up at him.

"Huh?"

Lance is looking thoughtful, though, frowning at the ceiling, gesturing with his eating utensil. "Does that count as work-related? Because you don't technically work-work with the Blades full-time, it's mostly like a side job. Or freelancing? Ha!  _ Free Lancing. _ Anyway. Also, I figured it wasn't like an actual mission or anything too serious, since those tend to be sort of time sensitive and you've been mulling around over it for like a week, I think."

"Would you stop focusing on that bet? I said it didn't matter. You're getting your surprise."

"I know, I know, I was just thinking out loud. Do you think it counts?"

"I guess? It is  _ work." _

"I think it's more like a vocation, though. Like a side class you take in college? Man, can you even imagine going to college? We would just be graduating from the - "

"Lance. You asked me a question."

"Huh?"

"About the Blades? I didn't hear you."

"Oh, yeah." There's a pause as Lance stares at him, and Keith struggles not to smile watching him mentally backtrack, twirling his utensil now and frowning. His entire face lights up when he lands on it. Keith has to look at his plate again. "Oh yeah! Kolivan sent you that message about wanting you to do something for him? You never got back to him. I was wondering what it was about. I was just being nosy."

Oh, that.

"Uhh," Keith starts, looking aside, "What made you think of that?"

Lance pokes the wall beside their table with his pinky finger, a mark that Keith hadn't even noticed dug into the plaster. "Some rebellious youth carved something into this wall with a pocket knife or something, and it made me think of you, and your knife, and the Blades."

"Your train of thought is something else."

"It's a gift. Are you ignoring my question now?"

"No." Maybe. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that. At least, I wanted to get your opinion."

Lance's eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Keith doesn't exactly know where to start, though, and chews on his silence for a while, grateful that Lance gives him time to sort himself out.

"Kolivan asked me to help train the new Blades," he says, "With the Empire finally getting itself together, their function is slightly different now than it was when we started working with them, and things are changing. He wants to start implementing those changes as early as possible and he thinks my presence with the Counsel might help smooth things along."

Lance blinks at him.

"What, really? Keith, that's awesome!"

"I guess."

Lance is frowning, confused, and looking at him carefully. "That sounds like something you'd definitely be into. Are you not excited?"

Keith shrugs.

"You know we all support you spending as much time with the Blades as you want, Keith. I know it's important to you."

"Well, I would… be gone a lot. For a while," Keith starts, tentatively, "Each group of new Blades is still relatively small. It's a generational thing. But the trials for each one can take several days, and there are all kinds of ceremonies and things to go through before the actual training process begins. I'd still be available if you guys needed me, obviously. But I would basically be living at their headquarters for several movements at a time..."

"So, you're worried about us having to pick up the slack for Voltron stuff, since you're going to be busy with the Blades," Lance says. Keith doesn't say anything, picks absently at his food. "Keith, you know we don't care to. This isn't like last time. It's not permanent. And you and me - we get kind of scattered around sometimes and go days without seeing each other, anyway. It's not going to be that different. We can still call each other and talk during our down time. I can come visit you when I'm not busy. What's your real hang-up with this?"

Keith thinks it over before answering.

"…. I was never properly initiated, and I've been using someone else's Blade this whole time. I guess I still feel like I don't quite belong there. And I don't…. think I'm exactly qualified for this sort of thing," he admits.

"Are you kidding?" Lance sounds incredulous, genuine, "You're perfect for this!"

"Am I?" Keith asks skeptically, looking up at him.

Lance's smile is as bright as ever, but it softens up at the look on Keith's face.

_ "Yes. _ You are. First of all, Kolivan wouldn't have asked you to do it if he didn't think you were "qualified", and you know that as well as I do. The dude is hard to impress. And second of all, you do an amazing job at leading  _ us. _ I know we all function pretty much individually most of the time, but we work best as a team because we have that trust and confidence in you. You do this kind of thing all the time, Keith, and you're  _ good _ at it."

"It's different if it's Voltron. I have a lot of help."

"You do a lot more than you think you do," Lance says firmly, "And Kolivan isn't going to throw you in there on your own, he'll be glaring over your shoulder the entire time making sure you don't screw it up. And if you  _ want _ to be there and you  _ want _ to help them move their society forward so we can continue working together for the good of the universe, then you  _ do _ belong there." Lance points for emphasis, at Keith, at where his Blade is hidden on his belt, tucked against his lower back just like it always is. "And that  _ is  _ your Blade. It doesn't matter who it belonged to before."

There's a pause as Keith takes all this in. It's weird that all he needs in order to feel ten times better about any situation is to talk to Lance about it. He doesn't know what he would do if he didn't have Lance's support - and his unshakable devotion.

He'd probably fall apart.

"You're right," Keith says softly, smiling, "Thanks, Lance."

Lance's face does that thing were he's been surprise into a giddy smile and he tries not to show it. He shrugs, averts his gaze, but that smile still tugs the corner of his mouth up.

"No problem, babe." He waits a beat, then adds, his cheeks a healthy  happy shade darker, "Is it completely cheesy for me to say that I think you're the future?"

"I think my arteries might have just clogged up."

"Wow, okay, Keith, if you go into cardiac arrest  _ on our very first date _ I'm going to be  _ furious, _ but also it is one hundred percent going to be because you've had about four of those platters and not because of anything I may or may not have said just now!"

"I was  _ hungry! _ You saw me fight a guy with my bare hands!"

"I  _ know, _ Keith, it was  _ unfairly _ hot. I was sweating."

_ "Lance." _

"And that reminds me, I need to antagonize the wait staff before we go."

"No."

"Yeah, I do! That's solidarity, babe."

_ "Lance, no." _

\----

One of the Amestrian suns is going down by the time they get back out onto the ever-bustling streets. The sky overhead is a hazy gradient of blue and green, the big star flicking its last lines of life in between the buildings and casting everything else into rich shadow. Signs and lights are glowing in a rainbow of colors to make up the difference. The second, smaller sun is still at its peak, a faint but persistent yellow star that seeks attention without giving any light.

After being inside a warm restaurant, Lance isn't very happy to be out in the plummeting temperature. Keith doesn't mind it. It's no colder than the desert at night, and even though he hasn't been back in a long time, his body still remembers it.

He shrugs out of his jacket as they're walking down the street.

Lance puffs at him immediately, "I'm fine!"

His cheeks are flushed, with cold and embarrassment. He is rattling away, shivering even with his hood up against the cold and his face tucked into it, with his hands buried deep within the pockets of his pullover and crossed around his stomach. Keith holds his jacket out wordlessly, unwilling to budge. He's not going to put it back on, and Lance isn't going to make him carry it.

He doesn't even really wait for the fabric to cool - Lance pulls it on while it is still warm from the heat of Keith's body and he inhales deeply, sighing into the collar.

Keith puts his hand in the pocket so he can hold onto Lance's while they walk. His knuckles bump into something hard in the inside pocket and he almost starts. Crap. He didn't forget that it was there, but he didn't think about the possibility of Lance noticing it, or asking about it.

He curls his hand around Lance's, hoping the distraction is enough.

\----

"I'm just gonna say it again, because it's worth repeating," Lance says, watching as Keith works on the padlock of a door that leads into what is clearly an abandoned warehouse. "You and I have  _ very _ different ideas about what counts as a romantic date. And you are  _ not _ allowed to pick the activities anymore, ever."

They're in like, the manufacturing district now. For some reason. Far away from the beautiful sparkling lights and the crowded, noisy streets crammed with people. It's quiet and empty in every direction. The streets are dimly lit, the pavement broken up in places, the buildings wide rather than tall and very imposing. The smells are more earthy around here, not as enticing. There's a low continuous rumbling somewhere in the distance, and a smoke stack billowing out just that.

It is warmer here, though. Warm enough for Lance to have shed Keith's coat and given it back to him. He seemed antsy without it on, anyway. Lance is wondering absently if the warmth is from radiation or something, and if they should really be here this time of night.

Or at all.

"If this were a real first date and I didn't know you like I do," he goes on, "I would be pulling out some pepper spray, or tazing you, and booking it to the nearest populated area, because this is exactly how people end up on the back of milk cartons, Keith."

"You watch too many movies, Lance," Keith says, not without affection.

He finally gets the lock open.

He pockets the key and lifts the latch, letting the door swing wide on its journey inward. It's completely dark inside. Except for the strip of light coming in through the open door, cut into narrow pieces by their long shadows in the center, there are no windows, or lights, or even sounds. Just the sense that the space in front of them is infinite and bare. Despite knowing that he's safe, Lance does feel uneasy about waltzing into an unfamiliar building without being able to see anything.

He follows closely behind Keith, pulling his longer stride short so he doesn't step all over the back of Keith's heels, and reaches out to grab the back pocket of his jeans. Keith doesn't say anything. He only takes a few steps to the left of the door, into the first dim dip of shadows. A panel on the wall lights up under his touch. A humming sound resonates from the abyss, and then lights fissure on in sections, working their way forward from the back of the warehouse.

It's empty. Lance had guessed that already.

The floor and walls look almost like concrete, a smooth, polished, gleaming grey. It's clean, at least. Like,  _ immaculately _ clean for a warehouse. There are metal rafters overhead obscuring the ceiling, and weird little green spokes hanging from them, pipes and exhaust fans cluttering the upper space and making the emptiness below look even more imposing. There's a smaller door at the very far end that looks like it leads into an office or something.

"It was actually less sinister-looking in the dark," Lance admits to Keith with a wiry smile, "What is this?"

"Be patient," Keith says, striding across the long room toward the opposite door. That's hilarious, coming from him. "Close that door for me and wait here. I'll be right back."

"You're going to leave your date standing here, alone and undefended?"

"You can still see me, Lance. I'm going right over there. And you're more than capable of defending yourself. Shut the door and stop being so dramatic."

"How can I be sure you didn't get body-snatched at the restaurant?"

"You  _ were _ in the bathroom for a long time."

"I couldn't get the sink to work! We need to establish a safe word."

"Bananas," Keith calls across the room.

"No! I  _ say _ bananas a lot! It's gotta be something neither of us say, like a fruit we both hate."

"Avocados."

_ "You _ have  _ never _ had my dad's guacamole, and also I am filing for immediate divorce!"

Keith's laughter rings in the open space above them.

Lance closes the huge door they came in through, fumbling with the weird latch. When he turns back, Keith has opened the door at the other end of the room and turned another light on inside. There's a small window with see-through curtains, and Lance watches as Keith's shaded figure moves around and pokes at things for a few minutes before coming back out. He closes the door and walks back to Lance, stopping in the center of the room.

Lance waits by the door, his attention caught on Keith pulling something out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The package Lance had felt earlier. It's a small box with an oval shape protruding slightly from the top. Keith crouches and turns the device over in his hands, fiddling with it.

Lance's curiosity gets the better of him and he jogs over to investigate more closely.

By the time he gets there, Keith has set the device on the floor and is stepping back. He reaches for Lance's hand and pulls him backwards a couple of paces. That catches Lance by surprise, and he smiles at their fingers, laced together, then at Keith.

"Is that a hologram projector?" he asks.

He recognizes it now, though the vague shape had been a mystery before.

"Good guess," Keith says with a smile. He nods toward the device. "Give it a second."

Undeniably curious to see what all the fuss is about - even though he remembers Keith telling him not to get himself hyped up about it, because it was "nothing big" - Lance bites back anymore questions. The overheads dim as the hologram activates, flashing an energetic blue before it sends a bright ripple out from the center. The room transforms in an instant. Lance feels the static tickle the soles of his feet through his shoes, feels the weird sensation settle low in his gut.

Those are nothing compared to what he feels in his chest as he looks around.

It's a beach.

On Earth.

Not one of Varadero's beautiful commercial beaches - smooth, perfect sand marked with tourists and footprints and castles - but a rocky little bay with cliffs reaching up behind it. It is instantly familiar to Lance, even if he hasn't seen it in years: a place his father used to take Lance and his siblings and cousins during the summer to get them away from all the noise. A place where they could fish and swim and play unbothered by the people just indulging in the aesthetic appeal of a place.

Lance's throat closes, heat unexpectedly burning at his eyes as he takes it all in.

There are tiny shells dotting the sand at his feet. High, sweeping cliffs crowded with deep green vegetation behind him, along with the markers and the bare path leading down from the parking lot near the highway. The grey, foaming ocean rolling in to meet him, close enough to almost kiss his toes before it slides back, leaving a damp imprint on the beach. There is nothing but sand and rocks and ocean in every direction, as far as Lance can see.

Even the sounds are there, a recording played through the projector. The rush of the ocean, and the wind sighing, and the distant cry of gulls.

He notices the overcast sky next, heavy grey clouds sitting low over the ocean. It's why the colors aren't as vibrant as he remembers, why it feels like a comfortable weight has settled over everything even as the wind he doesn't feel churns the ocean that he can't smell, has the sturdy trees undulating in a push and pull of their own. Lance looks at Keith, who's watching him carefully.

He still hasn't let go of Lance's hand and Lance grips his tightly now.

"You did this for me?"

"Yeah," Keith says quietly. His eyes match the stormy grey-violet overhead, only brighter, vivid and clear in a way that Lance can barely look away from.

"This is my favorite beach," Lance's laugh is a little choked, "How'd you get this?"

"I asked Veronica to send me some recordings. It took her a couple of days to get back to me, but Pidge was able to put together the hologram just in time."

There's a low peel of thunder then, momentarily shifting Lance's attention just in time to see the clouds over the ocean open up. The wall of rain is hazy to start with and quickly approaching, the sound like a wave in and of itself as it comes rushing to the shore. Lance gusts out a disappointed breath, anticipating the rush of cool air along with the sound.

"Aw man. I wish I could - "

A cold drop hits his face.

Another wets his lips.

There is a soft  _ pat _ near his ear as another one lands on his shoulder, and then there are dozens landing, trickling away, only there a moment long. It's a gradual, steady thing. A mist of small droplets that grows into a light and comfortable rain. It's not quite enough to soak through his outer layer of clothes, but it's enough to wet his hair, and Keith's. It's enough to roll down his face in a mimicry of the big emotion that he feels building inside of him, not quite ready to break free.

He knows it's not really rain.

It's the overhead sprinkler system, or something, perfectly timed with the simulation.

Lance watches as it disturbs the water, the waves churning and fogging and foaming as they reach up along the beach and rock backward again in a familiar, ageless rhythm. He watches it make pops and divets in the sand, watches it gather in places on the porous rocks.

He watches it lay in Keith's dark hair and drip from his chin.

"This is actually a present for you," Keith says, unprompted. It almost comes out like he's nervous and can't contain it anymore. "The projector, I mean. I... I know you get homesick sometimes, Lance. I know you miss your family, even though you get to talk to them a lot more now. I know you miss being on Earth. I wanted you to have something that could take you back there sometimes, if you wanted, since you can't go back in person. There are - there are a couple of different settings. All of them are for you, but I did pick one for myself. For… for us. It's some place I want to take you if we ever get a chance to go back and actually visit for a w _ hile -!" _

That last word gets knocked out in surprise as Lance crashes into him.

Lance's throat constricts and he tries to swallow past it, clutching Keith tightly so he can bury his face in Keith's shoulder and suck in a deep breath; the faint smell of his cologne, and sweat, some foreign soap. Lance is shaking with the effort. His resolve almost breaks when Keith relaxes against him after his momentary shock and hugs him back. Those strong arms fold around Lance's waist like that's exactly where they belong, squeezing him just as hard as he's getting.

Lance's breath rushes out.

"God, Keith," he gasps, "What do I even do for you…?"

"What are you talking about?" Keith's laugh is gentle and small and warm against his neck. His hands are pressing into Lance's back. "You do so much for me all the time, Lance."

"Not stuff like this…."

"I don't need stuff like this."

"Are you sure…?"

"I'm sure."

Lance tucks his cheek against the wet fabric of Keith's jacket, pulling in a stuttering breathing. He feels one hot tear pool on the side of his nose as he blinks hard through the downpour and watches the grey, churning ocean coming in and going out. He doesn't even know what to say.  _ Thank you  _ isn't good enough. He  _ does  _ get homesick. He  _ does  _ miss his family.

But it's really…  _ really _ hard to feel sad about that when Keith is  _ right here. _

When he does way more than expected - more than he  _ has _ to. When he's  _ so good. _

"Was this romantic enough for you?" Keith asks teasingly.

"I mean, I could have done without the part where I thought I was going to end up being worn as some murderers second skin."

"What?" Keith laughs.

"Why did you bring me to this creepy out-of-the-way warehouse? I'm not complaining! Like, at all. I'm totally overwhelmed. But you could have done this at the Castle?"

"The fire suppressors in the Castle are foam-based. It wouldn't have worked out the way I wanted it to. And I wanted to make sure it was a surprise. You would have suspected something if I had pulled you off to one of the empty rooms at the Castle."

"I might have just thought we were gonna be making out or something," Lance admits with a small laugh. He hugs Keith a little closer before reluctantly stepping back. Keith keeps his hands on Lance's waist, and Lance slides his arms down to Keith's elbows, bumping their dripping foreheads together. It's warm in the building, even with the simulated rain beginning to drench them in earnest, but, "We're gonna freeze to death when we go back outside, genius."

"Thought of that, too," Keith says, noticeably smug even as he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead against Lance's just like a cat does, their noses brushing, "There's a dryer above the door, like the decontamination unit in the Castle. So we can stay like this as long as you want, Lance."

Lance doesn't know what to say.

He grabs the lapels of Keith's jacket and pulls him into a fierce kiss.

\----

They sit for a while with their backs against the door and with the overhead heater going, stripped down with most of their clothes spread out to either side of them.

Lance scrolls through the logs stored in the projector, smiling fondly at all the places he grew up with. His favorite beach. The boardwalk, bustling with phantom people that pass them by unnoticed, a vivid blue sky stretching overhead that is full of clouds. His abuela's backyard; the view from her screened-in porch of the garden overgrown and in full spring bloom, budding with vegetables and herbs that Lance points to and eagerly names. His mother's kitchen, warm with golden sunlight filtering in through the ivy plants and windchimes and suncatchers painted by clumsy, adoring hands.

"Show me the one that you picked out," Lance says, arms folded around his knees, leaning forward eagerly.

Keith's cheeks turn pink, but he picks up the projector and changes the setting.

It's the desert, at night.

They're seated on a low hill overlooking the plains, and there is very little to see for miles and miles except for dirt and rocks and sparse fields of brown grass, a scattering of weak looking shrubs and thin trees here and there. Craggy mountains are silhouetted in the far distance, pitch against the inky blue-black sky. Unlike the other projections, there is no ambiance to accompany this one. No crickets or owls or the shrill cry of coyotes. Just a peaceful silence.

Overhead, there are a million stars out in their full illumination, faintly giving light.

One would think, being in space, Lance would be almost desensitized to a view like this. But there is something absolutely breathtaking about seeing the universe from this perspective.

The fact that this is Keith's favorite place on Earth, and that he wanted to share it with Lance, has his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He can't wait to see it in person. He rests his head on Keith's shoulder and leans his folded legs against Keith's, hugging his arm. Keith pushes one hand between his thighs, just to hold onto his leg below the knee in a gesture that is comforting for them both. His fingers rub absently, playing along the seam of Lance's jeans, and together they watch the slow rotation of stars.

\----

The trip back to the Castle is quiet, mostly.

Keith pilots the shuttle, and Lance sits buckled into the seat beside him, smiling. He has the projector in his lap, and both their damp, folded jackets, and also a bouquet of wildflowers - a smartass move on Keith's part, because Lance had made his own smartass comment about their date being "almost perfect" as they were walking back to the shuttle;  _ "You're supposed to show up at my door with flowers, Keith, that's standard romance." _ He had been joking, obviously. Keith had still made it a point to buy the biggest, gaudiest bundle of flowers the nearest vendor would give him.

He's impulsive, anyway.

It's good to be able to direct that energy toward something that doesn't cause Lance unnecessary stress.

The flowers' velvety scent fills the cabin. Lance keeps smiling at them. The bright violet orchid-looking things with glowing yellow centers, spikes of tall flowers in red and orange and pink, clusters of tiny jeweled buds in yellow and baby blue.

He keeps threatening to smother them in his arms, keeps forgetting not to hold them close enough to crush the delicate petals. The view out the window goes mostly ignored, the lights flitting past in the full canopy of darkness on their way to the Amestrian capital. Lance is more than content to touch each individual flower with his fingertips.

"What am I going to do with all these?" he asks, exasperated, "I don't have anywhere to put them. I'm going to have to ask Coran for an entire table or something."

"Not my problem," Keith says, smiling.

"We need a bigger room, anyway, actually," Lance says, as if it's just crossed his mind.

"You want to ask Coran for a whole new room to start your flower collection?"

"No," Lance says, stifling a laugh and trying to sound serious, "But I'm going to need like a greenhouse room or something at the rate you bring me flowers, you sentimental jerk. No, I meant. Our bed's kind of cramped. Like, it was fine before, or if it was just one of us, but with the two of us together… we're sort of too big for it now. I know I keep kicking you. And you keep sweating me out from under the blankets. We need some room to spread out a little bit, y'know?"

"The bathroom's too small," Keith adds, realizing just now how cluttered it is. Lance monopolizes the space in that area. To be fair, Keith doesn't really have that much, so he's not complaining or anything, but it would be nice to be able to shave or brush his teeth in the morning without knocking fourteen canisters of lotion and facial scrubs off the countertop.

"It  _ is," _ Lance agrees, "I don't have enough cabinet space and we've got to squeeze around each other if we're both trying to get ready at the same time."

"Neither of us have enough closet space."

_ "No." _

"I mean, they're individual rooms," Keith says, "Singles. Not couples."

"You think we could ask for a bigger room? I mean, there are a million rooms that are still sitting empty in that place, I don't think Coran would mind letting us pick a new one."

"I like our bed, though," Keith says, frowning slightly, "The bunk, I mean. I like sleeping on the outside with you on the inside."

"We can still have a bunk. Or maybe like, have one of those walls that comes and goes when you touch a panel, that kind of wraps around to the foot of the bed or something, so I don't have to keep climbing out over the top of you in the middle of the night."

"Is that a thing?"

"I don't see why it can't be, it's a magic space castle."

"Can we add like a desk or something?"

"So you can work in our room instead of on the bridge?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Alright. We can talk to Coran about it. It'll kinda be like picking out a house together," Lance chuckles, nudging at the flowers again, "I wonder how much he'll let us customize it."

"It's a magic space castle," Keith says, glancing away from the front window just long enough to shoot Lance a wide smile, "We can probably customize it however we want."

\----

With the exception of Coran, the others are all gathered in the lounge when Keith and Lance walk in. Hunk glances up at them over the back of the sofa and grins, laughing, "Wow, that bouquet is bigger than you guys!"

"I was trying to make a point," Keith says.

"Don't be jealous because I have a thoughtful, doting boyfriend who loves me unconditionally and buys me nice things," Lance simpers, holding the paper-wrapped flowers like a precious baby in the crook of one arm and holding on dutifully to Keith's elbow with the other.

Allura eagerly extends her hands for the bouquet, her eyes bright.

"Oh my, those are exquisite! I've never seen lytheriums in that shade before! Where did you find them?"

Lance kneels behind her at the sofa, holding the bouquet out so she can smell the flowers and get a closer look, and they're both instantly absorbed in gushing about them. Lance's smile is a mile wide, his cheeks warm, eyes bright as he tells the story, with embelishments. Keith stands just behind him, smiling fondly, until he notices Pidge and Hunk both giving him those knowing, grinning looks.

He scowls at them and folds his arms.

"So your date went well, I assume," Pidge says in a pointed way, tapping the corner of their glasses from behind the shine of their laptop screen, "Despite any… hiccups."

Keith's scowl softens into a frown.

"It was a nice, quiet evening," he says assertively.

Pidge snorts.

"If this is a  _ nice, quiet evening _ for you guys, I would hate to see what an extravagant one is like," they say, showing Keith and Lance the feed from their laptop screen.

It's Keith in the arena.

Keith sighs out through his nose, shoulders slumping under the sudden knowledge that this is something that's Out There as he watches the video play through. Lance glances back at him, then forward again, pointing at the screen, "That was a publicity stunt! We were set up!"

"Obviously."

"Did you guys have fun, at least?" Hunk asks, "I mean, y'know. Dinner was okay? You weren't like, followed around and harrassed all day, were you? I can't imagine you guys would stay out like literally all day long if it had been terrible. You know it's way past curfew. I was about to call the police."

He chuckles over the last bit.

Keith lets his irritation slip away - it's over, and they still had a good time, and there is no use in chewing on it and bringing his own mood or anyone else's mood down.

"It was nice," he says again, meaning it.

Lance is more eager to elaborate.

"We had an  _ amazing _ time. The whole arena thing was a quiznaking fiasco, but we were having fun before that and after we stopped being mad about it things picked up. We took some selfies, and walked around. Dinner was great! This little Verkln place almost had you beat, Hunk, I swear."

Hunk pops his fist against his knee, "I don't believe it!"

"I got this dessert thing that was like a six layer crumble cake with some kinda frozen yogurt inside."

"That sounds disgusting," Pidge says.

"It made my tongue numb. But they were super nice, and it was delicious, so I will stand by that place for the rest of my life. I tried a space latte that tasted like mint chocolate chip. Keith got me these flowers. Oh my god!" He fumbles with the cumbersome bouquet, with his jacket, which is folded over his arm underneath it. He fights to free the projector from his pocket so he can show the others. "Look what he gave me! You guys have probably already seen it, but look at it!"

"It was something of a joint effort," Pidge says, beaming that crooked grin of theirs, "You're welcome."

"Reece wanted to speak with you, Keith," Allura says, pulling his attention briefly away from Lance while he is still furiously thanking Pidge and showing Hunk the projector, "Everyone at the seminar saw the video."  _ Of course, _ Keith thinks. "I believe he wants to apologize. He had no idea the proprietor of the establishment would do something like that. It's repugnant, really."

"I figured he didn't have anything to do with it," Keith says. Reece was a little mouse of a guy. He didn't seem like the type. "Did he leave me a message?"

"Yes, Coran has it. He's on the bridge setting our course, but we're not due to leave for a while."

"Alright. I'll go take care of that now."

Lance looks up the moment he steps away, breaking off mid-sentence to knit his perfect eyebrows together and level Keith with that puppy-dog stare. Keith doesn't look at him, knowing he'll just get sucked into those blue eyes if he does. He calls over his shoulder, "Find some water for your flowers before they start to wilt."

"Hey, I thought we agreed to some cuddling!"

"If I go ahead and do this now we can cuddle and both sleep in in the morning."

Lance gets that soft, dopey look on his face, hugging his bundle of flowers to his chest again. Pidge coughs,  _ "Soft," _ unsubtly into their fist. And Keith leaves the lounge to the sound of Lance's indignant, embarrassed squawking and the other's playful laughter.

It was nice getting out, but it feels good to be home.

\----

"We should go dancing."

"You want to go dancing?"

"There an echo in here?"

Lance has his long legs draped over Keith's stomach and is curled around him on the pillows, elbow propped behind Keith's head, hands playing with his hair and the piercings in his ears, while Keith attempts to read. Lance  _ was _ playing on his phone. Now he's talking.

Keith lowers his tablet, giving Lance his undivided attention with a lift of his chin.

"You don't get enough chances to dance at all the galas we have to attend?"

"Yeah, but not enough chances to dance with  _ you," _ Lance says sensibly, "There's a difference. Besides, we haven't been to one of those in a while, and you've been with the Blades for like two movements straight. ...We don't have to. It was just a suggestion."

"Alright."

"Alright, what?"

The hands in his hair pause. Keith picks up his tablet.

"Alright, let's go dancing. We've got some down time coming up after the Kenoean expo is over."

He doesn't see it, but he knows Lance is smiling. Lance scoopes Keith's head into both his arms and presses his face into Keith's hair, knees curling around his chest, squeezing him with his whole body.

"I  _ love  _ you, you know that?" Lance asks, kissing the top of Keith's head,  _ "Te amo mas que mi propia piel." _

He wraps his long limbs around Keith's neck like an octopus, kissing his hair, patting his face, murmuring sweet acclamations in Spanish as well as English, until Keith is laughing, trying to squirm free.

\----

They talk to Coran about getting a bigger room - and the advisor is more than happy to show them how to alter the dimensions and layout of their current room.

Apparently, the magic space castle just Does That.

They don't want to leave their hallway and be further away from Hunk and Pidge, so what they end up doing is combining Lance's room (which they've been sharing) with Keith's old room. Keith gets to keep the security of sleeping in a bunk (a much LARGER bunk; they have  _ so _ much leg room), and Lance gets his hidden wall panel so he can still snuggle up against the wall, but also get out of bed without waking Keith up. Their bathroom has a tub, now, and seemingly infinite cabinet space. They both have enormous individual closets on either side of the doorway and a place to kick of their shoes and hang their coats in the alcove just inside the door.

They have more shelves and drawer space than they know what to do with, a desk in the corner that they can both work from. The bedside table is bigger - and because they don't have to keep their tablets or chargers there, anymore, the space is happily cluttered with vases large and small, all brimming over with flowers that vary from store-bought bouquets to the handfuls of blooming weeds that Keith yanks up in his haste whenever he spots them and thinks of Lance.

Date Night becomes a consistent thing.

They don't always get that chance to sneak off alone for an entire day when they're planetside - they're busy being Paladins, after all. Diplomats, warriors. They have responsibilities to uphold, planets to save and battles to fight. But they make more of an effort to carve out some special time for each other whenever they can in between their busy, sometimes diverging, schedules.

Sometimes date night is Going Out And Doing Things.

Sometimes it's as simple as Keith cooking for just the two of them (Hunk helps, but only the first couple of times while Keith gets more familiar with the kitchen and ….weird… variety of ingredients). Sometimes it's lighting up the entire ballroom and dancing together for hours. Sometimes it's sparring sessions where they trade off chores for wins. Sometimes it's scavenger hunts where one of them has to find the other (or some kind of prize) using notes hidden around the Castle. Sometimes it's sitting on one of the observation decks, counting and naming constellations.

Sometimes it's just taking a bath together; Keith likes it when Lance washes his hair while they're soaking in the tub, the attentive care he gives to every inch of Keith's skin and how soft he feels afterwards, and Lance loves pampering him as much as he can, kneading all the tension out of his muscles. He likes sitting in the floor between Lance's legs and letting Lance brush his hair. He likes falling asleep like that after a long day, his forehead resting against Lance's thigh, Lance's palm following the brush in long, soothing strokes; fingers carding through his hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp.

This time that one becomes a bit more heated toward the end than it usually does.

Not that Keith minds Lance pulling him up and pressing him down into the bedsheets, and kissing him until all other thoughts are a distant memory.

There are just a few thin layers of soft cotton between their bodies; Keith's shirt and boxers are rucked up and Lance's robe is falling open, exposing more of his brown skin to Keith's attention as it slips from his shoulder. They're both still warm from the bath, the sweet scents of soaps and lotions lingering, citrusy smooth. Keith inhales deeply as he grazes his lips past Lance's ear. He bites Lance's neck, the tender place under his throat, just to hear him gasp, to feel Lance rocking their hips together.

Excitement shoots, thick and warm, into the pit of his stomach.

It pools in his fingertips.

Lance slots their mouths together again, humming with pleasure. Keith doesn't realize his hands are moving lower, then higher, slipping under the robe, grasping and kneading - until Lance's thighs shift apart, framing Keith's hips, his knees digging into the mattress as he pushes back into Keith's hands. His mouth falls open in a small groan that breaks the kiss. His breath comes a little heavier. His eyes half-lidded, the pupils wide and dark, before Lance ducks to hide his flushing face against Keith's neck and rolls the entire length of his body against Keith's with a soft moan.

That's when Keith's ape-brain decides it's time to bash the moment in with a rock.

"We need - to talk, Lance."

His heart rate jumps up as the words leave his mouth, heavy from the back of his throat. He's still got two firm handfuls of Lance's ass. It doesn't even occur to him to let go, even when Lance stills on top of him and releases a confused exhale against his neck. Lance lifts his head again to look at Keith, his brow creased, cheeks noticeably dark even in the dim lighting of their bedroom.

"What?" he pants.

"I - " He isn't sure if Lance just didn't hear him, or if he's -

"Right now?"

Okay, it's the second one. Keith stumbles, "Y-yeah." 

Circulation is not exactly getting to the places that it needs to be in order for conversation to happen, so Keith understands when Lance hesitates, his movements stalling as he starts to push himself up, then stops - and then fully realizes what Keith is saying. Keith still hasn't let go of him for some reason. So his hands slide up Lance's bare waist as Lance moves back, his fingers catching on the underside of the cord around Lance's hips that is just barely keeping the disheveled robe together.

Keith follows him up, his palms burning and empty.

Lance sits back on his knees in front of Keith after putting some space in between them. He pulls at the front of his robe, trying to close it more, because it's the only thing he's wearing and it's hanging off of him. Keith notices his hand shaking as he does it, as he pulls the thin parted fabric down over his thighs. He avoids Keith's eyes. He looks like  _ sorry _ is on the tip of his tongue -  _ sorry _ for being too much,  _ sorry _ for pushing too hard or moving too quickly,  _ sorry _ for asking for too much. Keith's heart is going so wild in his chest right now that his ears are ringing.

"Hey." Keith reaches between them and catches Lance's wrist, says his name softly, "Lance. It's just… something that's been on my mind lately. I didn't mean to upset you or anything. It's nothing bad."

"Okay," the word gusts out of Lance on a short laugh, his face breaking into a weary smile. He glances up at Keith, but doesn't hold his gaze for long.

Keith scoots closer to him, still holding Lance by the hand and reaching out the grasp the other, trying to incite some eye contact by dipping his head into Lance's view. He receives a small, genuine chuckle at that and grins in response. He rubs his thumb over Lance's knuckles.

"What did… what did you wanna talk about, mullet?"

Keith wonders how blunt he should be.

All the heavy petting and the oral sex has been stirring up his libido lately. It's not like that was something he ignored in the first place. Before Lance, he was used to getting himself off every now and then as a way to relieve stress and nothing more. Now that he's actively participating with a partner, Keith feels… more relaxed, oddly enough. He doesn't carry around as much tension. He feels like he has more energy. He's  _ happier. _ Even just being with Lance in a not-intimate way has that effect on him, honestly, but the extra boost of oxytocin or whatever it is definitely plays a part.

Being with Lance, in every aspect, feels  _ good. _

Keith doesn't think he would mind having sex if it's going to feel as good as everything else does.

He just… doesn't know how to  _ say  _ that - especially since he was the one that said actual sex was off the table from the beginning. He doesn't know how to tell Lance that maybe he  _ wants _ more, if Lance does.

_ "Keith." _

"Sorry," he says. He can feel the tension in Lance's hands, the way they curl anxiously. "I, uh… I was just… thinking."

"About…? What?"

"Us?"

"Okay."

"I mean. Uh."

"Keith, I swear it's like pulling teeth with you sometimes.  _ Please," _ Lance snaps. He's pretending to be angry because he's scared and he doesn't want it to seem that way. But Keith knows him well enough to recognize that facade immediately whenever Lance puts it up.  _ "What? _ Are you - do you want some space? Is this -?"

"No," Keith says, "No, it's not that. I want...  _ less." _

_ "What?" _

He means - god he's stupid, he means  _ less space. _

"I - I changed my mind," Keith tries again.

"About  _ what, _ Keith?"

"About having sex."

Well, Keith doesn't know why he thought saying it like that, in this particular moment, would clear things up in anyway. He doesn't know why it's so difficult to get the words he's thinking to come out of his mouth the way he wants them to, in a way that is even slightly reminiscent of coherency. Lance sits stock still in front of him, several barely masked emotions playing across his face as he stares at Keith, then down at their joined hands. Keith thinks for a second that it's fine.

Then Lance says, "Oh," in this incredibly tiny voice, and Keith realizes he's misunderstood. "O-okay. I thought - I mean - Yeah. That's fine. Sorry."

Lance forces a short laugh, a smile. He doesn't look at Keith and he tries not to look hurt, but it's such a losing battle. He pulls his hands away, mumbles something about putting some clothes on. He won't  _ look _ at Keith. Keith latches onto him in a panic as Lance starts to get up, practically yanks him back down onto the bed, anchors him by the hands.

"W-wait, Lance."

"Ah. Sorry," Lance says, his brow creasing, "It's seriously fine, Keith. I get it - it's really okay - I didn't mean to - "

"No," Keith says firmly, "Lance, I  _ want _ to have sex with you. I - I mean, I. . I want us to talk about it." Lance's surprise would be funny if Keith wasn't so worried about his abysmal lack of communication skills. He's been in this relationship for months, close to a year now, and he's still saying the wrong thing half the time. "I didn't mean to make it seem like like I didn't… want to be with you. It was bad timing. That's- I'm sorry. I've just been thinking about it lately. Like. A lot. And it- it just sort of came out before I was ready to actually… articulate it properly."

Keith frowns when Lance only looks at him, like he doesn't quite believe him.

"Seriously?" Lance asks.

"Yeah," Keith says.

"I'm…" Lance stops himself, trying to catch up with what's happening. Then he laughs a little, soft and genuine. "I'm sorry, too. I know you're not… into this like I am, and I thought… You. You  _ want _ to have sex? Like, actual sex?"

"Yeah. I mean. I've been thinking about it." Keith hesitates, asks, "Do  _ you _ want to have sex?"

"Yes," Lance answers, instant and honest. He grins, a small thing, and ducks his head to one side, utterly un-embarrassed to admit, "In case you hadn't noticed, I can't keep my hands off you half the time."

"The feeling's pretty mutual, obviously."

"Yeah, but I know it's not the same. I love you," Lance goes on, smiling at him, but still noticeably worried, "And I love making you feel as good as you make me feel. But I don't… I don't  _ need  _ to, Keith. I don't want you to feel like it's something you  _ have _ to do just because  _ I _ want to. If it's not something that you want, too, then I'm fine with what we're doing. I know… I know you love me, Keith."

Keith looks away this time, just for a second, feeling a little guilty because he can't say that back.

He…  _ does _ love Lance.

He's just afraid to say it for some reason. It feels… too big for him. Like he's committing to too much, and he's still… he's still afraid of losing what he has. He doesn't want to push his luck, doesn't want to name this thing only to have it taken away.

Lance bounces their hands, adds, "You literally brought me flowers for no reason today, numbskull."

Keith's wandering gaze lands on the small vase on the bedside table that has a handful of rumpled blue flowers reviving in it. Aside from being a "prized" beverage and hair tonic, Nunvil is also apparently good for keeping cut flowers alive. It doesn't quite take away the accidental damage Keith inflicted on them in his hurry to get back into his Lion earlier - he was literally being shot at by a group of insurgents at the time - but it keeps them healthy looking for longer.

"It wasn't for no reason, Lance," Keith says, looking up at him, "I'm really happy. I want you to be happy, too."

Lance's expression warms, the kind of smile that looks like his heart is so full of love that it's melting out of him. That burns through Keith like nothing else does, right down to his toes, right into his bones. Right down to the heart of him, where it pulses through his veins.

He's never been loved like this.

He's never been wanted like this.

"I'm  _ so _ stupidly happy, Keith." Lance pauses gathers his thoughts, "If you… if you want to have sex, I'm definitely not gonna say no. If you decide you don't like it, you know we can stop any time, Keith. I want… I want you to be comfortable with this. I'm sorry I got so upset when you -"

"Don't be. I shouldn't have sprung that on you when I know how you feel about it."

"I am glad you brought it up, though. Even if it was rude. Just for the record,  _ we need to talk _ is usually code for,  _ I'm breaking up with you." _

"You thought I was breaking up with you?"

"No, I - maybe. A little."

"Lance, why would I bring you flowers and spend all this time with you today and then break up with you? We literally just re-moved in together into a room we both picked out."

"Well, when you say it like that it I can definitely hear how stupid it sounds."

Keith let's go of Lance's hands. Just so he can hold Lance's face between both of them, pulling him forward enough that Lance off-balances and has to brace one hand against the bed, the other on Keith's thigh. His indignant  _ hey! _ comes out pursed and slightly muffled because his cheeks are being squashed. Keith frowns, looking him directly in the eye.

"You're not stupid, Lance."

Lance's brow creases, blue eyes wide and worried. "I know."

"Your feelings aren't stupid."

"I- I know. Keith - "

"I know I'm not… I'm not going to feel the same way you do about sex. I know it's going to feel good, and I don't have any aversion to it, but it doesn't… interest me. I know that's weird. Just  _ being _ with you is enough for me. But if it's not enough for  _ you, _ then I - I  _ want _ to be with you, Lance. In every way. You tell me all the time that I can ask for less. You know you can ask for more, right? It's not going to be a burden.  _ You're  _ not a burden to me. Not ever."

Lance stares at him quietly for a few long seconds - has no choice but to look him in the eye because Keith is still holding his face so close.

"I know." His voice is small again. Unlike him.

"So ask," Keith says firmly.

There's another small pause. Keith let's go of him so Lance can ease back, have some space, some time to process and gather his thoughts.

"I hate that you keep out romancing me," Lance says teasingly, even though he doesn't.

He's smiling.

"Then step up your game, McClain."

Keith says it softly, smirking. It's a challenge. Keith knows it will get Lance back on top of him in two seconds, and Keith loves that they're like this. Lance's hand is on his chest, pushing him down with just enough force that Keith's back bounces on the bed. The way he kisses Keith is the direct opposite of that - it's soft and lingering - and their hands twine together.

It lacks the sense of urgency they had before. Lance takes his time. He kisses his way across Keith's face, coaxes a sweet laugh out of him.

Lance only let's go of Keith's hand when Keith moves it down to caress Lance's thigh where it's curled against his hip. He slides it further, pushing up the robe inch by inch, reveling in the way Lance presses and curls even closer to him. Keith slowly works his hand in between their stomachs, trying to get the knot of Lance's bathrobe open. It's just getting in the way at this point, hindering Lance's movements. Lance is thinking the same thing. He uses his newly freed hand to tug at the hem of Keith's boxers, easing them down over his hips with limited success.

It's all difficult to do one-handed, still kissing, pressed together like this with neither of them willing to part from the other. It's clumsy and awkward, and Lance finally breaks away with a breathless laugh. He nuzzles his face into Keith's hair, drops a kiss against his temple.

Keith gives the knot another tug and it finally comes free. He presses his fingertips into Lance's warm skin, both hands - trails them up over Lance's hips, back to where they were before he opened his stupid mouth. He digs his fingers in slightly, holding Lance against him. Lance shudders out a whine this time, his breath hot over Keith's ear, fingers clutching at the sheets.

The vibration of his body as he moans softly hits Keith hard enough that he shudders, too.

But he's still holding back.

"Keith… are you sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure, Lance. Are you?"

He moves to comfort rather than tease this time, kneading the tender flesh under his palm. Lance relaxes with a small hum, his breath picking up again.

He shifts his grip to Keith's shirt instead of the bed and rolls, pulling Keith over on top of him. This new position leaves him more exposed as Keith sits back on his knees, his hands resting warmly on Lance's open thighs. Keith feels too hot under all his clothes as he looks down at Lance - the short rise and fall of his chest, the quiver of tension in the toned muscles of his stomach as Keith glides his hand slowly up to the juncture of his hip. His flushed cheeks and parted lips. His blue eyes, dark and anxious and so full of eager love. His hands lifting to sneak under Keith's shirt, fingers dancing up his ribs, tugging at the fabric.

Keith catches his hands before they can go much further. He picks them up and presses a kiss into each of his palms, to his long fingers, to the back of his hands. That - not  _ only _ that, but everything else, coalescing - has Lance surging up to meet him, hands tugging away just to pull Keith closer, just to crash their mouths together. Lance pulls his arms out of the constricting sleeves of his robe, leaves it rumpled and forgotten underneath him as he helps Keith out of the rest of his clothes, knees hugging at his hips, fingertips grazing over his skin.

His hands are impatient but gentle, shaking. He slows Keith down or stops him more than once just to kiss him, or hold onto him, just to make it last.

Lance says his name, _says_ _I love you,_ so many times that Keith forgets what anything else sounds like.

He feels it singing under his skin, even after.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Whoooo boy, I got this posted just under the wire! I had to work today and it was... distracting. Also I forgot. /sweats/ But this is the longest part out of the bunch, and it's just dumb fluff!! A bit of a reprieve for the angst that's to come (y'all know. I know you know. We are all out here reading the same fics, spoon feeding each other the same tropes lmao)
> 
> My original plan for this was to keep the rating relatively tame, so I wasn't going to include much about Keith and Lance's sex life, but the more the story expanded, the more I wanted to elaborate on every aspect of their relationship. Given that my ORIGINAL original plan was to just "write a few scenes" for this AU so I could swiftly move on to the "not really but kinda sorta a time travel" fic I also have in the works, which features Older Lance - y'all can obviously see that my plans go astray. I'm happy with the way things have turned out, and I hope you guys are enjoying it, too!
> 
> Thank you for all the amazing comments and kudos! See you next week!
> 
> [my tumblr](http://bobtheacorn.tumblr.com) ♡


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